Walk of Mystery
by Jemima123
Summary: Sherlock was bored again and so he took to the streets of London on one Sunday morning, meeting a young woman who seems to have entertained his mind. Sherlock/OC
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was bored. He was so bored that bored was perhaps not the correct word to use. His day to day activities seemed mundane without the usual thrill of psychopaths and serial killers to catch. Instead, for that past week, he had spent his time in the flat of 221B Baker Street, reading books and using John's laptop to search various sites, trying to find something to capture his interest for more than five minutes. John had complained at Sherlock for his constant rambling and had found himself spending more time with Sarah in an attempt to not let Sherlock drive him mad. And so, it was on that Sunday morning at approximately quarter past six when Sherlock let himself out of the apartment and onto the cold, wintery morning of London. Placing on his leather gloves and closing his grey coat tighter around him, he moved down the empty pavement, looking for anything which might be interesting. As he wandered around London, he only passed a handful of people who were going about their everyday business. There was nothing interesting at all; maybe a walk wouldn't help clear his mind. That was until he saw her. Walking down the pavement of a street line in town houses, he saw a woman slowly shutting the door to a house, wincing slightly at the contact it made with the frame as it shut. He saw her shut her eyes for a moment and then turn around, walking down the steps and looking around, noticing Sherlock but ignoring him and just turning a slight red when she saw his smirk on his face. Quickly, she walked down the sidewalk, Sherlock following her, reading her like an open book. As she continued to hurry, she managed to find an uneven paving slab, her ankle twisted slightly and she was thrown off balance, landing straight onto her backside in the quiet air.

"Like a hand?" Sherlock managed to ask her and she looked down at the concrete before taking his leather clad hands and allowing him to haul her up.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"No problem," Sherlock shrugged.

"I don't normally look this much of a mess," she said and Sherlock looked at her for the first time. She was wearing a short, sequined black dress which clung to her body rather suggestively, black stilettos were on her feet and her blonde hair was ruffled up and curly as her makeup looked runny.

"I imagine you don't normally do the walk of shame home either," Sherlock said.

"How do you know I'm doing the walk of shame?" she asked and continued hobbling along on her ankle as Sherlock walked alongside her, oblivious to her pain.

"Well it's quite clear, you're wearing last night clothes and you've just come out of a home which isn't your own for you didn't lock up and the way you winced when you shut the door shows you didn't want whoever you had slept with to know you were leaving," Sherlock observed. "Judging by the house you had just left I would say he was quite wealthy as well, no one close to you for the reason that you wanted to sneak out"

"Okay you got me" she said "I'm doing the walk of shame..." she clutched onto her necklace around her neck with a locket on the end and Sherlock noticed.

"No...I'm guessing you don't anyway because you have an elder brother who used to look after you, correct?" Sherlock asked and the girl stopped and looked amazed, pushing her blonde hair from her face.

"How...how did you know?" she asked and once again Sherlock couldn't help but grin.

"You have a photo of him on your pendant. He is too young to be your father and by the way you're standing close to him I would say he was your brother and you were close, of course the photo looks relatively old due to the fading of it and so I would say that he is dead possibly, from the war by the looks of it and the way he has his hair cut and is holding himself around you shows protectiveness. So that would mean that he was strict and would never have let his baby sister out of his sight, hence she would never have slept with a random man after a drunken night out."

"Do you always analyse every woman you meet?" she asked him.

"Force of habit," Sherlock shrugged and continued walking. "I also imagine you're a secretary."

"For a law firm," she confirmed and Sherlock made a tut noise;

"What would they say if they knew she was doing a walk of shame?" he asked and noted her limp for the first time

"Trust me," she said. "A lot more bad things go on in that place than what I just did...and I feel terrible about it...so how do you know I'm a secretary?"

"Expensive dress, shoes and bracelet tells me you're in a well paying profession but you party so like to have fun too, showing you're not too serious about your career. You have well maintained hands and nails which shows you don't do any manual work," Sherlock said. "And so if you feel bad about what happened last night then it shows you don't do this often."

"Sleep with anyone I meet?" the blonde laughed, standing still for a moment and bending over, touching her ankle. "Never done it before"

"So I'm guessing you only did it because you felt like you needed someone to give you attention...with the death of your brother leaving you alone then you thought you needed someone to be with," Sherlock said and she stood up straight again, tossing her blonde locks back and looking at the tall mysterious man.

"Makes me sound pathetic, right? Considering it meant nothing."

"They say meaningless sex can sometimes be the best," Sherlock informed her and she raised an awkward brow.

"Right" she muttered "I don't think I caught your name..."

"It's Sherlock," he said. "Sherlock Holmes, Miss Scarlett Jones"

"It's Jenson," she replied. "How did you even get that?"

"On the back of the locket it says to Scarlett from LJ...I guessed Jones and just so happened to be wrong. An unusual thing Miss Jenson, I shall have you know," he told her cockily.

"Do all walks of shame end up like this?" she asked and Sherlock looked at her ankle.

"Technically you're not walking" he said "and many people tend to find my little habit annoying"

"Really?" she asked. "I find it fascinating Mr Holmes...and you leave me if you want...I'll call a taxi...this is London after all."

"How far away do you live?" Sherlock asked her.

"About four streets from here," Scarlett said and Sherlock nodded, swiftly and boldly moving towards her, knocking her knees from under her and his other arm going around her waist as he held her in his arms.

"I can't leave you here now knowing you have a tendency for getting into trouble, and besides, calling a cab would take far too long and it is terribly cold for you to have to stand in that skimpy dress and wait for a taxi," Sherlock told her as he felt her arms rest onto his shoulders and she shook her head.

"You're an odd one Mr Holmes," she said lowly. "I don't even know you"

"Ah," Sherlock said, looking forwards. "But I know you."

"No you don't," Scarlett chuckled. "Not really anyway...you know of my life but you don't know me."

"Perhaps you're right," Sherlock stated, looking into her blue eyes, a twinkle in his own as he found the young woman fascinating to him. "And don't you think it seems even worse that you know nothing about me?" he checked with her and she shrugged;

"I can normally judge a person," she stated and Sherlock raised a brow at her;

"Really?" he asked and she nodded.

"Normally...but you're an odd one," she admitted and Sherlock chuckled.

"How so?" he wondered.

"Well first off," she began, "you're out for a walk in the early hours of the morning for no apparent reason by the looks of it, then you find me and begin to randomly speak with me and then you insist on carrying me back home"

"So I can't just be kind?" Holmes wondered and Scarlett turned a little red.

"Or that too," she admitted. "But I mean...do you really think I deserve kindness?"

"So you want the whole world to punish you because you feel guilty for acting like some cheap tart and so you know it isn't just you who is mad with yourself?" Holmes asked her and she jumped back a little.

"Are you always this brash?" she asked.

"Normally," he admitted quickly. "I don't see you as some slapper...I just think you were lonely and confused." Holmes nodded once and Scarlett looked into his eyes for a minute and smiled.

"In that case," she said. "Thanks"

"You're welcome. Now which way do we go?" he asked and she guided him to her house where he set her down on the porch and she unlocked the door and stood in the doorway, her bad ankle off the floor slightly as she looked at Sherlock, stood opposite her and she extended her hand to him;

"I thank you Mr Holmes for what has been an extremely odd morning," she grinned and Sherlock took her hand and shook it;

"And you too Miss Jenson...you've...well...been quite entertaining," he said and the girl simply smirked and laughed to herself;

"Glad I can entertain," she bowed ironically and stood back up as they stared at each other.

"I'll leave you to it then," Sherlock nodded and she smiled.

"I'll see you around Mr Holmes?" she asked him hopefully as he walked off, looking back at her with a smug grin;

"Perhaps."

...

Please read and review my quick little one shot! Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock's boredom was taking its toll. John was constantly going out with Sarah and so that just left him home alone all the time, reading and being bored again. He had read all the books of interest to him and so he once again found himself going out for a stroll in the cold winter air, walking along the pathway in an absent minded fashion, obliviously passing a red door which he had been at the previous week, talking to someone who he found captivating. He had not seen the mysterious Scarlett Jenson since the morning where he carried her home, stopping her from catching a rather bad case of pneumonia by the looks of it. He found the young woman interesting; there was nothing special about her, no hidden deep dark secrets or his inability to read her. She was a plain girl and yet she had caught his eye. Something not many women were capable to do. He didn't look at her door when he passed it; instead he continued walking along, until he found his favourite coffee shop. Stepping inside, the room was small and lay out with benches with tables in the middle, the seating plush and even plusher due to the fact no one was sitting in them.

"Can I make that to go?" a familiar voice asked at the till and Sherlock stopped his pondering out the window and looked in front of him. Blonde hair was piled onto the woman's head in a scruffy looking bun, she wore a black tube skirt, coming just above her knees, her feet wore black heels which made her look tall and she also wore a grey blazer, covering a plain white vest top. Before Holmes could even say anything her phone began to vibrate and she muttered under her breath and pulled it from the depths of her leather bag and answered it.

"Yes," she said. "No...Mary I'm on my way in...I had to...yes okay I was late up," she moaned and Sherlock chuckled at the unprofessionalism of the girl, she really was used to getting into sticky situations.

"I put them on my desk," she said, grabbing her coffee and quickly turning, as she did so, she didn't see Sherlock stood behind her and she waltzed straight into him, her hand which held the coffee allowed the cup to tumble from her grasp and straight onto his purple scarf and grey coat.

"Oh God!" she shrieked, stepping back, looking at him, her phone still plastered to her ear as she stared at the stranger.

"Mary I have to go," and then she hung up, placing the phone simply into her pocket before looking at Sherlock, her hands raised, palms flat as she shook her head;

"I am so sorry," she told him.

"No," he replied. "I must have been stood too close." He wasn't. And he knew it.

"Oh this is ridiculous!" The blonde squeaked out. "First you meet me and I'm walking home after spending a night with a stranger," she called out and the woman behind the till raised her eyebrows in wonder as Sherlock watched her and then looked back at the blonde who was hunting for napkins on the table, grabbing a hand full, "and now I've just gone and spilt coffee on you after admitting to my...well...work colleague that I slept in..."

"It's quite alright," Sherlock assured her, dabbing the napkins onto his scarf as the blonde girl folded one arm across her midriff and then her other held her cheek as she turned red.

"Oh it's not alright," she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. "I've ruined your scarf and coat."

"Nothing that a good dry clean can't fix," Sherlock assured her and she began to open her black leather bag again on her shoulder;

"At least let me pay for it..." She pulled out a large purse and Sherlock began to wander why she had so much stuff in her bag, but the consulting detective shook his head.

"No Miss Jenson," he said sternly. "I can afford it...you don't need to do that."

"But I'd feel better," she said and reached for the money, but Sherlock grabbed onto her hand to stop her and he took her purse and closed it up, handing it back to her and looking her in the eye;

"You don't have to," he said and she finally gave in and simply just looked at him, intrigued by this man who seemed to be jumping up on her at awkward moments.

"I'm not normally this clumsy," she promised him and he chuckled, remembering her saying something along those lines when they had first met.

"Of course Miss Jenson," he agreed courteously with her.

"Please call me Scarlett...I think after me spilling coffee on you and you carrying me home that we're past formalities," she chuckled and simply stood where she was, forgetting about work.

"Well normally people are past formalities when they get to know someone well," Sherlock informed her and she nodded.

"That is true," she agreed. "But you seem to know everything about me."

"I didn't know you was clumsy as well as a party animal," Sherlock retorted and Scarlett simply laughed once.

"Well now you do."

"And you still know nothing of me," Sherlock replied and Scarlett turned a little red which Sherlock picked up on and he made an 'ah' noise.

"Clearly you do know something about me judging by the silence of you and so that must mean that you researched me after that morning, possibly on the internet, don't look like the type of girl to read a paper and so I imagine you found my blog and some other interesting news articles," Sherlock said and Scarlett looked to the floor;

"I wish you'd stop doing that," she muttered.

"Why?" Sherlock wondered. "I quite like the colour it brings to your cheeks, makes you look nice," he said and Scarlett simply looked into his eyes and wondered what was going on as he seemed to look emotionless still. Before she could even think of replying, her phone began to vibrate and she dug it back out and answered it.

"No...sorry Mary...I spilt my coffee...okay...no...it's on my computer...Mr High asked me to do it that's why. I'll be there soon," and then she hung up again and looked at Sherlock, motioning to the door with her phone.

"I have to go," she said and Sherlock nodded.

"Of course. Work calls," he agreed with her. "However, seeing as how you know about me now then I do think I should receive some more information in return," he said and she fiddled in her bag for a moment.

"I thought you knew all about me?" she raised a brow.

"As did I." Sherlock stated smugly. "But clearly not, as you said the other morning, I know of you but I don't know you," he said and Scarlett nodded.

"I do remember saying that," she confirmed. "Although I think you have more information than I do."

"Maybe we can rectify that?" he proposed to her and Scarlett wondered what was happening. Was he asking her out? Was she saying yes?

"Maybe," she tried not to smile. "How about a drink...tonight...perhaps?" _Oh God _she thought _did I sound too eager? He's going to think I'm a complete nutcase...oh shut up Scarlett, he thinks that already, you spilt coffee on him and had him carry you home for goodness sake_.

"Ah." Sherlock mused. "Considering your track record with alcohol from what I know of you I'd say we'd best leave that be...you wouldn't want to make the same mistake twice" he embarrassed her and she turned an extremely deep red as she couldn't manage to speak and so Sherlock continued for the both of them;

"I'll be at your door at seven thirty tonight," he said and she nodded in agreement;

"Okay then," she agreed. "I have to go," she moaned when he phone began to vibrate again and she moved to the door.

"And Scarlett?" Sherlock called out to her and a smile played on her lips, hearing him call her name. "Here's your coffee...I do believe that was the main reason you came in here," he told her, giving over his own coffee which the woman had prepared for him, what with him being a regular.

"Thanks," Scarlett smiled and then left. Sherlock sat down in a booth and removed his coat and scarf and watched as she walked off, managing to dodge people in the street as she went. There was something interesting about her, he had to admit. But he didn't know why.

...

Instantly I thought about just making this a one shot, but I don't know whether to just do multiple chapters or develop into a story. Anyway, please review if you're reading! Thank you to PhantomInspector for their review!


	3. Chapter 3

"And where are you heading out to?" John Watson asked Sherlock at seven p.m that night. He looked at his friend with raised eyebrows as Sherlock placed on his jacket over his white shirt and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Just out," Sherlock avoided eye contact with John and picked up his wallet and then looked at another wallet on the coffee table "do you think I should use mine or Lestrade's wallet?"

"Sherlock," John scolded his friend half heartedly and Sherlock shook his head;

"You're right," he replied, "wouldn't appear correct."

"That would depend on where you're going," John replied to Sherlock who allowed a twinkle to enter his normally plain eyes as he smirked and stood up from the sofa, clapping once as he did so and then he checked his watch.

"Taking a friend out for dinner," Sherlock replied and John cocked his head to the side, looking at him in utter confusion.

"You don't have friends," he replied and Sherlock placed his hands onto his hips and allowed an exasperated sigh to escape his lips.

"Really John," Sherlock spoke loudly. "I am not a completely unsociable creature as you cruelly tend to believe."

"What?" John asked, his mouth hanging wide. "I...I didn't say anything...I don't think that..."

"It's alright," Sherlock muttered, "many do...I have to go or I will be late."

"Where are you taking her?" John asked, feeling cocky suddenly as his friend walked past him and he caught a whiff of some form of aftershave he had never smelt on Sherlock before. The part time Detective stood still, buttoning one of his buttons on his jacket as he looked at his friend with a raised brow;

"I never said it was a she," Sherlock stated and John folded his arms in complete victory, he could tell Sherlock was meeting a woman and Sherlock's face knew that he knew.

"You didn't need to. New aftershave?" John raised his voice, asking the question and Sherlock simply narrowed his eyes and looked to the floor;

"I knew it was too strong," he commented.

"So who is she?" John continued to push his friend.

"Time shall tell," Sherlock remained mysterious, knowing it would soon drive John mad and he enjoyed seeing that. "Don't wait up!"

"Sherlock!" John called out as the taller man ran down the steps of 221B Baker Street and out onto the cold night air. He quickly rushed along the streets until he came to her door. Taking a small breath, he moved along the paving stones and then up the three large steps to her red door. Knocking softly, he waited for a few seconds and then he saw her appear at the door.

"Good evening," Sherlock said politely. "Is this a bad time?" he wondered, noticing she was simply wearing a fluffy white towel and she had a toothbrush in her mouth, toothpaste was frothing at her mouth before she allowed Sherlock to shimmy into her town house. She held up a finger, indicating for him to wait a moment before she moved further into her home, and then disappearing into a room where she removed her toothbrush and spat out the toothpaste. Sherlock moved deeper into her home, noticing the cleanness of it. She appeared to be more of a traditionalist than he had thought. Mahogany cabinets held certain ornaments in her open spaced living area. The sofas were a light brown material and a large fireplace stood next to the TV. The kitchen was like one which would be found in a country home, large wooden worktops lined the U shaped wall and a small table was already set for any meal of the day.

"I'm sorry," Scarlett called out, walking back down the steps to the living room, "work kept me behind and I tried to get out of it but they needed me to stay behind and help call another firm and one thing led to another and then I rushed home, only to manage to get into a cab which broke down and so I had to run...then I had to shower and change...and I'm stood in a towel," she remembered and Sherlock couldn't help but grin a little at her flustering as he shook his head;

"It's quite alright," he said, wriggling his lips, bringing himself to say her name, "Scarlett."

"Anyway...I'll go and change...I'll be quick...just...well...entertain yourself for a moment I suppose...not wanting to sound rude...but I did, didn't I? Oh God I'm sorry," she garbled, "I have a tendency to talk when I'm nervous and not make any sense whatsoever."

"Really," Sherlock said forcefully. "Its fine. I'll wait here" he said and flopped onto her sofa whilst she rushed back up the steps. Sherlock observed her living area and he had deduced many things about her in the first thirty second. It was clear that her favourite drink was hot chocolate due to the two bottles of the mixture on her worktop. Her favourite film was Harry Potter because the disk was lounging on top of the box and the box looked worn quite a bit. Also she was a neat freak. Sherlock couldn't see any dust anywhere which did shock him due to her personality. He waited for around ten minutes before he saw her coming back down the stairs. She wore a Parisian white lace dress which was sleeveless; a simple brown belt went around her waist, showing off how thin she was. Her blonde hair hung loose and dropped down her back as she hurriedly put on her nude heels and looked at Sherlock.

"I'm ready," she smiled, picking up her clutch bag as Sherlock stood up and nodded at her

"Okay then," he agreed and picked up her coat which was on the back of the sofa and helped her to shrug into it, catching a sniff of what she smelt like before he followed her to the front door where she locked up and rushed down the steps to him. The two of them walked closely together as Scarlett followed him willingly down the street until he finally pushed open the door to an Italian restaurant.

"I gathered you liked Italian," Sherlock said. "I noticed there were jars of pasta on your worktop surface."

"So you only just chose this place?" Scarlett raised a brow and Sherlock simply nodded at her.

"I waited to see what food you liked before making a decision," he informed her as they were shown to a seat near the window. Sherlock held out a chair and Scarlett sat down, allowing him to tuck her back in before he sat down opposite her, observing the way she was looking around the restaurant which was quiet at that moment in time. She turned back around and noted Sherlock staring at her and she immediately went red, placing a hand through her hair;

"What is it?" she asked, wondering if she had something wrong with her.

"It's nothing," Sherlock shrugged off as Scarlett removed her coat and smiled at him.

"So I discovered you're a consulting detective," she began conversation and Sherlock smirked smugly, gazing intently at her;

"So you did research me?" he checked and Scarlett raised her hands;

"Guilty," she said. "You seemed to discover my entire life out and I knew nothing about you. It only felt right to know something in return...but then I researched the job which you have."

"And you found out no one else does it in the world?" Sherlock asked her cockily. "And that would be because it is a one of a kind job."

"Are you serious?" Scarlett asked in slight shock.

"No one in the world," he confirmed for her. "Basically I help the police when they can't solve cases."

"I read about some which you helped on," she informed him. "You're an intriguing person Sherlock."

"You think?"

"Yes...I do," she told him truthfully before they were asked to give their order;

"A lasagne for me and pasta carbonara for her," Sherlock said and Scarlett looked at him and he sighed realising he would have to explain again to her how he knew so much about her. Maybe he would start to creep her out...so maybe he should stop...if he could.

"There were jars of the sauces by the pasta, indicating it is your favourite...I can change it if you want?" he offered her and she shook her head, her mouth straight as she simply looked at him.

"How do you take it all in?" she wondered. "I wouldn't have thought anything about it and yet you can deduce many things about me."

"Like how your favourite film is Harry Potter? And how you love hot chocolate and you also like traditional things but you're not old fashioned?" Sherlock asked her and the look on her face told him that he should probably stop. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'll just ask you things from now on instead of taking them for granted."

"No," she shook her head. "It's fine...well...maybe it would be nice but it's okay," she promised him but before he could even count on answering, his phone began to vibrate in his jacket pocket.

"Sorry," he said and took the call as Scarlett sat there, looking around and allowing him to have his private conversation as he spoke to some man named Lestrade. The one thing which Scarlett did hear was Sherlock saying he would be there in five.

"I am terribly sorry," he said, being genuine to her, "but...it's work."

"No," she said, shaking her head as the food arrived and Sherlock began to go through his wallet. The disappointment in her eyes were clear as day to him and he couldn't help but feel bad which was an odd emotion for him to even consider feeling, "work comes first...and I'll pay."

"I don't think so," he said, dropping a twenty pound note onto the table. "I apologise once again," he said and then turned quickly on his heel and left the restaurant. As he stood, waiting to hail a cab, he looked back into the restaurant where he saw her sat alone. A plate of food opposite her as she swirled her wine in the glass and tossed her hair from her face, attracting looks from people near her, pitying her deeply. Sherlock stood in the cold air and closed his eyes for a moment;

"Damn it...I will probably regret this," he said and turned to walk back into the restaurant, giving up a cab which had seen him. As he manoeuvred his way inside he saw her look back at him and her mouth parted gently as she pointed to the door;

"You had work?" she recalled and he nodded.

"I still do...but...well...I don't want to leave you in another embarrassing situation, attracting pity stares from people around you so come with me," he said.

"But you're off to a crime scene...I thought that was what you did?" she asked and he nodded, offering her his hand;

"I am...but I can say you're my assistant for the evening and no one will question me and then I'll take you for dinner...seeing as how I am bowing out of this I consider it only right to make it up to you," he said and she took his hand as he quickly pulled her from her seat, barely giving her a chance to grab her clutch bag. He rushed outside and hailed a cab, opening the door for her to climb into. As he gave the directions he noted that in the mad rush, she had forgotten her coat.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "I...I didn't think...here...you must be freezing," he said and shrugged out of his own jacket, leaving himself in nothing but his white shirt, his grey coat still at the dry cleaners.

"I'm fine," she assured him but he ignored her protests and draped it over her shoulders.

"I am sorry," Sherlock said once again as the cab drew to a halt outside the crime scene tape and he held the door open for her, his free hand taking hers as he helped her out.

"Don't worry about it," she shrugged. "It's definitely a different type of date."

"Date?" Sherlock raised his brow at her and she turned instantly red, but before she had a chance to blabber on again, a new shrieking voice was heard.

"What are you doing here freak?" she asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking down at the blonde beside him;

"I apologise for her profusely," he said and Scarlett looked confused.

"Lestrade called me," Sherlock said, holding the tape up for Scarlett to walk under.

"Typical," Sally Anderson muttered. "And who's the girl?"

"She's helping me out," Sherlock said and Sally raised a brow in utter confusion;

"Looks a little dressed up to me," she said, taking in her white lace dress and then putting two and two together. "You managed to get a date?" her voice went high pitched and Sherlock rolled his eyes;

"Yes," he said firmly. "But I prefer my date's to be single and not cheating slime balls...ah..." Sherlock raised his voice and a gleam came into his eyes, "speak of the devil."

"Oh Lord," a man complained as he walked down the steps, his voice slightly high as he looked at a smirking Sherlock and a timid Scarlett.

"Lestrade inside, Anderson?" Sherlock asked, moving forward, his hand rest on Scarlett's back, pushing her forward too.

"And you managed to get an invite," he said begrudgingly.

"Wouldn't miss the party for anything," Sherlock replied. "How's the wife?"

"I don't know what you mean," he denied his affair and Sherlock simply nodded;

"You never seem to know what I mean...possibly because of your poor IQ," Sherlock suggested and Scarlett simply remained still, wondering where his immense hatred of the two people had come from.

"Shut up Sherlock," Anderson snapped, "or I will tell your little date of that time there was a drug bust in your home."

"Misunderstanding," Sherlock told Scarlett before he could say anymore. "And how did Sally take the news?" he whispered as Sally's ears picked up.

"What do you mean?" Anderson wondered, sweating a little.

"So she doesn't know your wife is pregnant?" Sherlock's voice boomed.

"Shut up Holmes!" Sally retorted and then glared at Anderson. "And she can't go in with you!"

"I'd prefer for Lestrade to tell me that," Sherlock said but Scarlett shook her head;

"It's fine...I'll wait here..."

"You don't have to," he said but her eyes told him it wasn't up for discussion

"I'll wait Sherlock," she assured him and with one simple nod, he moved into the house.

She watched Sherlock move into the home and then she moved backwards, keeping her distance, that was until Sally walked over to her.

"So," she began, "you and him?"

"What about us?" Scarlett asked her and she chuckled

"He's trouble," she warned the girl and Scarlett simply looked at Donovan with a raised brow.

"He seems nice," Scarlett replied and Donovan snorted;

"He enjoys this...the murder...the thrill...you stay with him and he'll ruin you."

"Whoa," Scarlett said. "We've only just met...I know about his job anyway," she shrugged and Donovan shook her head;

"Just remember," she said warning, "he'll hurt you."

A few moments later, Sherlock chose his time to appear, stepping in between the two women and looking down at Scarlett;

"Everything okay?" he checked and the blonde nodded.

"Fine," she smiled but Sherlock didn't look convinced. He checked his watch and offered her his arm which she took, her shoulders still covered with his jacket.

"What did Donovan want?" he asked her as they walked down the pavement, looking for a place to eat.

"She told me to stay away from you," Scarlett replied and Sherlock chuckled;

"Of course she did."

...

"I don't see why you're grinning so much," Sherlock commented as he brought over a tray to the booth where Scarlett was sat in;

"We've had to downgrade terribly," he said, looking around the fast food parlour. The two of them overdressed as everyone else simply wore jeans and tops. Scarlett couldn't help but smile as she unwrapped her burger and Sherlock noticed her;

"Clearly you don't mind ending the evening in a fast food place?" he checked and she chuckled;

"I don't mind," she said. "I can honestly say this is the most unusual date I have been on."

"Well...some would say I'm not a typical and usual person," Sherlock rested his elbows on the table, eating a chip quickly.

"No," she agreed. "You're certainly not."

...

Thank you to anyone who is reading this fanfic! I'm enjoying writing it at the moment in time! Thank you to freezingsummerbreeze, your review was lovely! Glad you're enjoying it so far!


	4. Chapter 4

"I thought I told you not to wait up," Sherlock stated when he entered his flat and saw John draped over the sofa which he so constantly occupied. John stirred when Sherlock switched on the main light in the darkened room and he rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly.

"I wasn't going to," John denied. He was planning to do just that, but when he heard the clock strike twelve he realised Sherlock had either done something he had never known Sherlock do, and that was to stay over at a girl's house or that he was truly interested in her. The latter option occupied his mind at that moment in time and he realised that the first option should never have been thought of.

"Yes you were John," Sherlock rolled his eyes, throwing his keys onto the coffee table and then depositing his wallet down next to them. "And you can get off my sofa."

"I pay half the rent," John stated. "Sometimes more depending on you."

"You're forgetting who bought the sofa in the first place," Sherlock pointed out and John simply shook his head in disbelief, moving from the sofa and sitting in the armchair instead whilst Sherlock lay down and reflected on the night's events.

"So go on then," John urged him. "You've picked on me so I expect some information."

"The case was as I believed, boring. Simple if we're being honest. Why the police couldn't find the killer is beyond me, I mean he was the husband for goodness sakes," Sherlock said and John raised a brow, watching as his friend closed his eyes and rested his hands behind his head.

"What? I thought you were taking a girl out? Don't tell me there was a dead woman as your date?" John wrinkled his nose and Sherlock allowed his head to fall to the side as he narrowed his eyes at his friend.

"Sometimes speaking with the dead can be much more favourable than speaking with the living as they can't ask dumb questions and annoy you, hence why my skull was my best friend," Sherlock stated, checking his watch and blinking several times in order to read the time which was ten past one in the morning.

"Sherlock," John complained "can I get a name at least?"

"Scarlett," Sherlock spoke, her name sounding odd on his lips. "Scarlett Jenson."

"And how do you know her?" John asked and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes;

"Honestly John," he said curtly. "Do you want her whole life story as well?"

"I was only asking where you met," John defended his actions. "But I imagine you got her life story in less than ninety seconds?"

"Possible," Sherlock mused. "I didn't count however."

"So do you plan to tell me anymore about her? And what is this about a case?" John continued rooting for information, but, sometimes talking with Sherlock was like banging your own head against a brick wall and it was rare that results were made.

"Lestrade wanted help whilst we were at dinner...I took her with me," Sherlock shrugged. "She waited outside...Donovan tried to poison her mind but I didn't expect anything less. Anyway, the case was impeccably easy. I sometimes think that the police only use me to help solve the boring murders quicker and make themselves look good."

"Wait," John shook his hands slightly whilst Sherlock went back to closing his eyes, begging for John to shut up so he could gain some well earned sleep. "You took her? As in you took her to a crime scene? That's almost as bad as mine and Sarah's first date."

"Not quite John," Sherlock pursed his lips. "Scarlett was never in danger anyway...and what is so bad about taking her to a crime scene?"

"You never take anyone but me to them," John almost sounded hurt and Sherlock picked up on his tone and couldn't help but smirk, waiting to taunt him;

"Jealous John?" he wondered. "Don't worry...there's always a place for you at them."

"Thanks," John replied dryly. "But why take her? Clearly it shows you felt bad for having to leave her and that maybe you was enjoying another _living _humans company which had to mean that you...you cared enough about her to take her with you..."

"Or maybe I just was kind enough to save her from walking home alone and stop being stared at pitifully?" Sherlock suggested and John simply nodded;

"The key word there is 'kind'...you being kind...something odd that is," John joked and Sherlock scoffed to himself and simply shook his head;

"You have me down as some kind of man who doesn't act like a gentleman," he said, "it hurts deeply John."

"You're never hurt," John replied. "So why are you back so late?"

"Because I kept my word and took Scarlett out for dinner," Sherlock's lips twitched upwards a little, remembering the way she had eaten the fast food like a normal girl, nothing prim and proper like her clothes would have suggested. He was deeply intrigued by her.

"You could have just taken her home...but you were being a gentleman...and you didn't try...you know?" John wondered

"What?" Sherlock asked, once again opening his eyes to look at John who had turned a slight red colour as he nodded suggestively at Sherlock who rolled his eyes and looked back at the ceiling.

"God John," he complained. "On the first date you thought I'd even try and get into her pants?"

"So you admit to it being a date?" John jumped onto his every word so that he could manage to gain as much information as he could from Sherlock.

"What else do you call it? Obviously you'd call it a 'pulling parade,'" Sherlock wound him up but he didn't take the bait, wanting to know more about Sherlock's mystery woman.

"I'm being serious Sherlock," John said and shifted in the chair to make himself more comfortable.

"Yes," Sherlock snapped, "it was a date...and even Anderson didn't ruin it...or Donovan."

"And she is still interested?" John checked with Sherlock who just smirked a little, not enough for John to notice him.

"Judging by the way she didn't want to say goodbye I would say she is probably interested," Sherlock said. "Now are you quite done? I'd like to go to sleep and your constant wittering is getting on my nerves."

"No," John said quickly back to him. "Will I get to meet her...she has to be some form of nuclear scientist to capture your eye."

"She's a secretary," Sherlock replied. "For a law firm."

"What?" John replied in shock. "A secretary? Not a neurosurgeon? Or a top politician?"

"No I'm joking John," Sherlock said sarcastically, "she's a rocket scientist."

"Really?" John replied.

"No," Sherlock snapped back. "If I say she is a secretary then she is a secretary."

"So she must have some deep dark past to keep you interested," John mused over it by himself.

"No. She's an ordinary girl," Sherlock said.

"You don't go for ordinary," John replied.

"Maybe there is an exception to every rule," Sherlock muttered under his breath so John couldn't hear him.

...

"Sherlock," Scarlett gasped when she saw the young man sat on one of the steps of her home, wearing his clean grey coat and purple scarf. Scarlett moved her bag further onto her shoulder as she twirled her keys in her hand.

"I'm sorry to be bothersome," Sherlock stated and he stood up, straightening out his coat as he looked at her. "But I realised you may need this back," he said and handed her back her winter coat which she had left at the restaurant the previous night. She draped it over her arm and nodded;

"Thank you," she said. "I was going to go back and fetch it...well tonight anyway."

"I figured it may have been partly my fault that you didn't pick it up and I thought I would save you a trip," Sherlock replied.

"Well do you want to come in?" she unlocked her front door and stood in the hallway, watching Sherlock as he stood on her doorstep and looked behind her into the house and then back into her eyes;

"Are you sure?" he asked and she nodded.

"I'm sure," she whispered lightly and hung her coat up and Sherlock stepped in and took his coat off, Scarlett reached out to take it from him and she hung it next to her own.

"Can I get you a drink?" she asked and moved into the kitchen area and flipped on the kettle, pouring herself a hot chocolate.

"Coffee, please," Sherlock said, removing his scarf and draping it over her sofa.

"Got it," she said and then heard the ringing of her doorbell. She placed the kettle down as Sherlock looked at her;

"Would you like me to answer it?" Sherlock asked her and she shook her head, handing him his coffee and moving past him;

"I'll be back in a moment," she said and unlocked the door to find a woman stood there with long curly hair, a phone plastered into her hand as she smiled up at Scarlett.

"Hi," she said chirpily and Scarlett simply just looked confused as Sherlock recognised the voice and moved over to the door, standing behind Scarlett, his hand clutching the door above her head, his body close to hers as he looked at the woman and shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

"We weren't expecting you to be here," she said, but she didn't look shocked. Instead she simply looked emotionless.

"No?" Sherlock asked. "Well you can't be tailing me very well at this moment in time. Tell me, is he sat in the car across the road?"

"I should suppose so," she drawled lightly and Scarlett looked up at Sherlock in confusion and he caught her eyes, shaking his head;

"Don't ask," he muttered. "Ah...here he comes!"

"Sherlock," a man greeted the consultant and Sherlock simply inclined his head;

"Mycroft," he said. "I imagine you are here to speak with Scarlett?"

"Me?" Scarlett squeaked out and Sherlock watched as his brother took to the steps and stood opposite him, his assistant moving behind him slightly, still on her phone.

"I was," he agreed. "To ask what Miss Jenson is doing with you."

"Like you did with John?" Sherlock checked.

"You know we're watching you Sherlock," Mycroft arched a brow. "We're concerned for you."

"And so because John didn't take the money to spy on me you wondered if Scarlett would," he deduced and Mycroft looked at the blonde and then back to his brother.

"Am I supposed to understand what is going on here?" Scarlett wondered and Sherlock simply shook his head;

"No," he told her. "I'll explain later...but seeing as how you are here now Mycroft, you need to sort out the police force, they are becoming far too incompetent."

"That's not my area," Mycroft said.

"Really?" Sherlock replied. "I thought you ran most of the government?"

"Don't be absurd Sherlock," Mycroft responded curtly.

"So if there is nothing that Scarlett and I can do for you then you should be on your way, wouldn't you say so?" Sherlock said cockily and Mycroft shook his head;

"I'll be watching Sherlock," he promised.

"Oh I don't doubt it, now goodnight Mycroft," he said, pulling Scarlett back into the house and then shutting the door whilst the blonde simply looked confused, looking from Sherlock and then back to the door.

"Are you going to explain?" she asked him. "Because I am really confused."

"That was my brother," Sherlock said, moving back to the coffee table where he had placed his cup and taking a sip of it he looked at Scarlett.

"That was the strangest reaction I have seen from any brother," she said and Sherlock snorted;

"I'd imagine so. Me and Mycroft don't get on...he seems to think I'm incompetent," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "and likes to keep a watch on me and my methods."

"So he was planning to offer me money to spy on you?" Scarlett checked and Sherlock nodded;

"I should think that was the reason for his presence," he simply shrugged and Scarlett's eyes widened. "Would you have taken the money?"

"No!" she responded quickly.

"Why not?" Sherlock pushed her. "We haven't known each other long and he does pay handsomely."

"But then I wouldn't be able to look at you and be honest," Scarlett replied.

"You could have lied when you saw me," he told her and she simply looked at him and shook her head;

"No," she said sternly. "I wouldn't have...and I won't if he ever asks me again."

"Well," Sherlock nodded. "Fair enough."

"Is knowing you always going to be this odd?" Scarlett muttered, sitting down on the armchair with her hot chocolate whilst Sherlock occupied the sofa and smiled into his coffee and then straightened his face again when he looked at her;

"Possibly Scarlett," he told her.

"Well I can't say I haven't been warned."

...

Thank you to anyone who is reading this! I've done two updates in one day and I hope they're okay, I'm trying to keep Sherlock in his normal character which can sometimes be difficult but I hope it's not too bad. Anyway, please do leave me a review to let me know what you think, thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

"So your brother actually wants people to spy on you?" Scarlett checked as she sat in her living room that evening. Sherlock sat on the sofa, constantly picking up details about her life as he looked around her living room, but he kept the information to himself, allowing her to freely tell him more about her life which was something Sherlock had never let anyone do before. He pleased himself by seeing other people look at him in wonder as he told them things which they had never told anyone else.

"Yes," Sherlock replied simply. "Mycroft and I don't get along as you can possibly tell...he thinks I am some form of risk because of the ways in which I handle my dealings. Truth be known, he has never caused me many problems before though, he has bigger things on his hands to worry about."

"Wow," Scarlett simply replied. "That's...just...wow..."

"Completely different than the relationship which you had with your brother," Sherlock commented and he saw her eyes cloud over as she looked down at the floor and then to the material on her sofa, shrugging as she went.

"I should suppose so," she agreed. "Lee and I...well...we were close..."

"I can tell by the way you have a picture of him with you and then some dotted around. Iraq or Afghanistan?" the exact same question he had asked John the first time he had met him.

"Iraq," Scarlett sighed. "I begged him not to join...selfish, isn't it? Pleading for someone not to fight for their country."

"You could look at it that way," Sherlock agreed. "Or you could look at it in the way that many do, and that is that you don't want a loved one to get hurt. Clearly, he was your only family left and he was the only person you had to rely on."

"So you know my parents died then?" Scarlett raised a brow and Sherlock nodded;

"You never mentioned them," he said. "And by the way you spoke, it was always your big brother looking after you. I'm also guessing it was a car crash by the way your body went slightly rigid when we were in the cab the other night."

Scarlett blinked a few times and moved her feet from underneath her, walking back into the kitchen and setting her cup down, her hand clasping onto the sink as she relived that night for a moment and looked down onto the shiny metal which was full of water. Sherlock remained silent and simply just watched her, worrying ever so slightly if he had said the wrong thing to her.

"You're an impressive man Sherlock," Scarlett said. "Everything you said..."

"I'm sorry," Sherlock replied to her honestly. "I didn't mean to...well...sadden you, I should suppose."

"No, no, no," She replied quickly, raising the back of her hand and wiping away a tear and then turning around to look into his dark eyes as he remained sat on the edge of his seat. "It's fine...I just don't like thinking about it."

"I can tell," Sherlock raised a brow. "But then again, who would like to speak of their deceased family when it makes them relive horrible experiences?"

"No one," Scarlett whispered and shook her head, shrugging out of the blazer jacket she had been wearing and throwing it onto the back of her small dining table chair and then looking at Sherlock with a slight smile;

"Anyway," she changed the topic. "The crime scene last night...you didn't say much about it."

"No," Sherlock agreed with her as he watched her occupy the other end of the sofa which he was sat on, curling her knees to her and tucking them under her chin as she watched him lean slightly to the side, resting against the arm of the sofa and then folding his legs. "Well I didn't want to bore you with such terribly uninteresting things...it wasn't exactly the most interesting of cases."

"You solved it?" she sounded shocked and Sherlock smirked slightly at her, unable to hold it back, liking to hear the element of surprise in her voice.

"Why of course," he replied. "It was ever so simple, her wedding ring had been recently removed and she was covered in bruises, her phone was bunged up with texts from someone begging to talk, a male which means husband. He must have lashed out and she hit her head hard on the bedside cabinet, causing death."

"That's horrible," Scarlett commented. "I mean...I do hear of some cases where there have been some quite grisly murders...but nothing like what you hear I imagine."

"Possibly not," Sherlock mused. "All comes with the job."

"And I also take it you're not a big fan of Anderson and Donovan?" she remembered their names and Sherlock simply snorted, chuckling to himself;

"You picked up on that?" he asked her sarcastically and she smiled back at him lightly before he coughed and continued; "well no...Donovan just doesn't like me in general, she believes the police don't need my help and normally her beliefs are incorrect and that sentiment is true in this case. Anderson...well...he's just a bit of a dim whit who I can't stand to be honest and as soon as he speaks I feel brain cells die off."

"Sherlock," Scarlett tried to sound shocked but she was just laughing at the consultants ramblings on the two people. Sherlock watched her and took a drink of his coffee, laughing lightly along with her as he did so, unable not smile when he saw her looking so happy. And it was at him.

"I'm afraid I have to speak the truth," he told her. "But you shouldn't listen to Donovan...she's just spiteful and bitter...but life with me can sometimes be dangerous Scarlett."

"As in life threatening dangerous?" she asked and Sherlock nodded;

"Maybe that's a story for a different night," he told her, thinking it may be best, not wanting to put her off before he even got to know her.

"Okay," she agreed. "I didn't realise your job could be so dangerous."

"Oh," Sherlock grinned. "It is."

"So who is John?" Scarlett once again changed the topic and Sherlock's grin fell from his face.

"He is my flat mate, works as Doctor and sometimes helps me on cases...he was in the war...nothing much to say about him," Sherlock replied, "apart from the fact he can be extremely nosey."

"You have a flat?" she checked and Sherlock nodded;

"Yes," he replied "it's a nice little place...just what I like...and looking at the time I think I had best be getting back to it" he checked his watch which read ten past eleven and Scarlett looked at her clock on her mantelpiece and nodded to him;

"It is getting late," she agreed. "And I have work in the morning."

"Ah, work," Sherlock spoke, sounding pitying for her. "In that case I shall bid you goodnight," Sherlock said, placing his coat back on whilst Scarlett handed him his scarf and he took it. She stood there and folded her arms across her midriff as she watched him open the door and turn back to look at her.

"Can I expect you to be popping up on me again?" Sherlock asked and she grinned, watching him place his leather gloves onto his hands;

"Would you like me to pop up on you again?" she reversed the question.

"I wouldn't object," he said, sounding slightly eager as she chuckled;

"In that case you'd best watch out for flying coffee cups," she said with a grin and Sherlock moved down her steps, looking back up at her in the doorway as he left;

"I look forward to it."

...

"You've been with her again, haven't you?" John asked excitedly when Sherlock walked back into the flat that evening. The taller man rolled his eyes and began to remove his outside layers, watching his friend who at least had the common knowledge not to occupy his sofa that evening.

"Honestly John," Sherlock began, "you look as giddy as a schoolchild."

"Because I want to meet her and see what has gotten you, _Sherlock Holmes, _so caught up in her," John said and Sherlock frowned a little and grimaced;

"I'm not caught up in her," he denied. "I find her company enjoyable."

"You never find anyone's company enjoyable," John stated and Sherlock picked up a book and lounged over his sofa, opening it to a page he had previously been on;

"You don't seem to be picking up on that statement," Sherlock said dryly and John rolled his eyes;

"You know you can stand my company," he replied. "But her? I need to meet her."

"You don't _need _to meet her John," Sherlock replied. "You want to meet her. The word need would imply something bad may happen if you don't."

"It would," John exclaimed, "I think I may go mad."

"I think that's too late," Sherlock mused.

"Sherlock," John complained. "Bring her round one night."

"I don't think she would approve of our mess, taking into consideration her home is spotless," Sherlock informed John. "And the effect your hyper activeness may have on her worries me terribly."

...

Sherlock walked down the streets of London again that morning, fully intent on running into Scarlett in the coffee shop, well, maybe not _running _into her like last time, but a little bump wouldn't go amiss. As he walked he tried to tell himself to get a grip and not act like some deranged stalker, but he couldn't help it. She was affecting him terribly. Sherlock walked slowly down her street but something he saw caught his eye. He noticed at her home, there was a man crouched down by her open door, fiddling with the inside of it. And then there was Scarlett. She was stood in nothing but jeans, a white vest top, covered by a long grey cardigan, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her face was pale white. Sherlock stopped by her walkway and only then did she notice him and she gave him a vague smile.

"What's the matter?" he asked her as she switched her large purse from one hand to her other;

"I've been burgled," she said, nodding her head down to the man on the ground. "Llast night...they've taken the most random of things Sherlock...my photos...some films...clothes..." she said and Sherlock could sense she was close to tears as he stood on her bottom step and the locksmith stood up and spoke with her for a moment, before she opened her purse and paid him the money he had asked. Sherlock shimmied past him as he moved down the steps and onto the streets.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked her and she wrapped an arm around her midriff and shrugged her shoulders, her other hand wiping away some tears;

"I don't know," she admitted. "I just woke up and found them missing...but they didn't take any other stuff...like my TV or...anything expensive."

"But you're okay?" he checked, not that interested in goods. Scarlett nodded at him and he looked her in the eye;

"Right then. Did you call the police?" he asked, knowing that they may not have helped her too much.

"Yes," she muttered as Sherlock placed his hand onto her back and led her into the house, shutting the door with a kick of his foot as he guided her to the sofa and sat her down, sitting closely next to her.

"They said that there were no prints or anything...so they can't do anything for me...just look out for my things..." Scarlett shrugged and Sherlock couldn't help but think of the situation as being odd. What type of burglar didn't steal for monetary goods?

"But it all happened whilst I was sleeping," she whispered. Iin my house...I feel sick just thinking about it."

"I know," Sherlock agreed with her. "What are you going to do?"

"Carry on," Scarlett sighed. "Go to work...then come back here..." she said and looked around her home whilst Sherlock caught the way she turned rigid again and he sighed, wondering if he was being far too kind.

"If you'd prefer it...you can stay with me? For the night that is...in your own bed, of course...if you don't feel safe coming here," he said, turning slightly red himself at his blabbering.

"I have to be here Sherlock...I can't keep hiding from my home," she said and he shook his head;

"One night shall not kill you," he said and she looked into his eyes;

"Are you sure?" she asked and he nodded whilst mentally shaking his head.

"The address is 221B Baker Street."

...

Scarlett took a bag of clothes with her to work that day and all the essentials which she would need for a night so she didn't have to get a cab back to her home and then one to Sherlock's. His gesture had taken her by surprise, he seemed like the type of man who enjoyed his privacy and now she was intruding on it. As she climbed out the car to 221B Baker Street, she looked up at the building, paying the cab driver before she walked and knocked on the door. She waited for a few moments before a woman appeared at the door. Scarlett looked at her, wondering if she had the wrong number but the woman simply smiled at the blonde.

"Ah," she sighed. "You must be Scarlett...John has told me all about you..."

"Mrs Hudson," Sherlock's voice boomed from the top of the steps as he rushed down them and stood behind the old woman. "Now you don't want to make the poor girl stand on the doorstep all day and fill her head with tales which John has given you because many of them shall not be true."

"So it's not true you like her then?" Mrs Hudson asked and Sherlock moved past the old woman. "Or that you're intrigued by her?"

"Ignore the old woman," Sherlock muttered to Scarlett, taking her travel bag. "Her hip plays her up and she has all these remedies which just make her loopy in the head."

"Sherlock Holmes!" Mrs Hudson snapped. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here."

"Apologies Mrs Hudson," Sherlock drawled. "I'll show Scarlett upstairs...you go take a lie down...after all the nattering you and John have been doing I am sure you're tired," Sherlock said and Scarlett moved into the building as Sherlock began going up the steps. Scarlett nodded at the woman;

"Nice to meet you," she said politely

"And you too dear," she smiled and Scarlett followed Sherlock up the steps and into a room off the first floor. She took in its appearance, from the way it smelt to the way it looked. Everything about it seemed so _Sherlock_. The way books were lying around and paperwork everywhere. It was rustic and yet went with him.

"Take a seat," Sherlock told her. "Can I get you anything to eat?"

"I'm fine thank you...I haven't been eating much," she said and Sherlock nodded. Understandable, given the day's events.

"Anyway," Sherlock replied. "I apologise for the mess, but you can have my room tonight," he said and she turned red;

"I'll take the couch," she replied. "It's no problem."

"Ah, that it may be," Sherlock said, standing near his bookshelf, "but what type of host makes his guest sleep on the couch?"

"You," a new voice replied and both heads turned to the door where a man stood. He instantly looked at Scarlett and she stood up, taking his outstretched hand;

"Nice to meet you, I'm John Watson, you must be Scarlett?" he checked and she nodded;

"Yes," she replied and Sherlock coughed loudly for a moment, looking at John with narrowed eyes;

"You're home early," he stated and John grinned;

"Not much to do at the clinic," he drawled, removing his coat. "And besides, I wanted to meet the woman you keep going on about."

"Don't be melodramatic," Sherlock snapped at John. "I wouldn't be going on about her if you didn't keep asking me questions about her."

"He would," John assured Scarlett who remained slightly silent as she smiled at John.

"Would it be okay if I use the bathroom?" she asked, and Sherlock nodded, jumping in front of John and placing his hand on her back, guiding her to the door itself, personally.

"What are you playing at?" Sherlock snapped at John when he returned;

"Embarrassing you by the looks of it?" John responded and Sherlock's phone began to vibrate as he glared at John;

"Well there's no need," he snapped before answering his phone and quickly speaking into it.

"We have to go," he said when he hung up, handing John his coat back. "They think the serial killer from Oxford Street has struck again."

"What about Scarlett?" John asked and Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose shut and looked at his friend before seeing the girl walk back in and noticing them in their coats.

"Scarlett," Sherlock began, "we've been called onto a case...hopefully it shouldn't take too long...but you're more than welcome to just stay here and make yourself at home...there is hot chocolate in the cupboard and well...you can find anything."

"Oh," she replied, "if you're sure..."

"I'm positive," he said. "We shall see you soon," Sherlock said and he took the steps quickly whilst John nodded goodbye to Scarlett and walked after Sherlock;

"There's hot chocolate in the cupboard?" John asked. "We never have any of that."

"We do now," Sherlock growled lowly.

...

"So what now?" John asked as he and Sherlock walked back to 221B Baker Street and the consultant shrugged;

"No idea," he drawled lowly. "We wait for him to make a mistake."

"You think he will?"

"I think time will tell," Sherlock said as he reached for his key and unlocked the front door, walking up the steps and into the living room.

"Hey!" John called out, following him at a slower pace, "you don't think that-" he began but was cut off when Sherlock placed a finger to his lips, indicating for him to be silent. John got the message when he saw Scarlett laid on the sofa, her body curled tightly and Sherlock looking down on her. John nodded once and indicated to the stairs and Sherlock nodded, meaning he was just going to bed. When John had left, Sherlock took a seat in the armchair and watched Scarlett sleeping, his fingers lacing themselves together as he remained sat in his coat and scarf. He watched how she breathed lightly and her hands rested by the side of her body as her head indented itself on the cushion beneath it. With one final glance at her, Sherlock removed his coat, noticing there were no blankets, and he draped it over her, the grey material hanging limply over her body. He saw her stir a little as he hung his scarf up and he looked at her blonde hair;

"Goodnight Scarlett," he said, switching the light out and closing the door slightly on her, leaving her sleeping on his sofa.

...

Thank you to anyone reading once again and to anyone who has reviewed my previous chapters! Please leave me a review to tell me what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

No matter how hard he tried, Sherlock Holmes could not let sleep overtake him that evening. He lay on his bed, wearing his green pyjamas and even his blue dressing gown to keep him warm, but he was tossing and turning and unable to drift into the dream world. But he didn't know why. His body was physically tired, but his mind was active. But wasn't it always? Well, tonight would seem to be the night his mind would choose to work overtime. The main thing which kept going through his head was a certain blonde who was sleeping on his sofa in his living room. Why had they taken personal items from her? Sherlock couldn't help but think it was extremely random and out the blue. It was almost as if they wanted to learn more about her life. But why? That was the question which Sherlock couldn't find the answer to. Of course he had multiple options running around his head but he didn't want to commit to one.

"Sherlock," a sudden voice squeaked out and the man sat up, bolt straight, as he switched his light on and looked over to his door before quickly jumping from his bed and rushing over to it, opening it wide to see Scarlett stood there. She had changed from her previous clothes into grey sweatpants and a white vest top, her hair in a ponytail as she looked worriedly at the consultant who raised a brow in expectation;

"I heard something...from downstairs...at the door...like hushed voices..." she told him and he placed her body behind his own;

"Stay here," he said lowly to her before walking out and looking down the steps to the front door, where he too, did indeed hear voices. Slowly he saw the door creak open and the man at the bottom of the steps noticed the consultant as he raised his gun. Sherlock quickly stepped back from the steps, hearing the first shot echo as it whizzed past his ear. Scarlett screamed in fright before Sherlock ushered her back into his bedroom, barricading the door with his small desk he kept in his room and then grabbing his phone, he grasped Scarlett's wrist and pulled her to the floor, dragging both their bodies to hide underneath the bed.

"What's going on?" Scarlett asked as Sherlock simply began to phone for 999, asking for the police.

"I don't know," Sherlock told her and then another gunshot was heard before banging on the door came. Scarlett instinctively moved closer to Sherlock as her cheek rested on the floor, just below Sherlock's head. He felt her breath on his bare skin and he could feel the fear radiating from her body as he simply just allowed one of his hands to hold onto hers. Footsteps were soon heard and then there was nothing. Scarlett looked up at Sherlock who simply released his hand and bent down to her ear;

"Stay here," he ordered her. "I'm going to see..." he said and slowly wriggled his tall body from under the bed and out onto the floor, moving to the door where one tiny bullet hole had entered the wooden frame.

"Well that's just disrespectful," Sherlock heaved before opening the door and finding that the coast was clear.

"It's okay," he called back into his room and then he found Scarlett, stumbling from under the bed, her hair in disarray in its bobble as she adjusted her sleepwear and moved out into the hallway to stand beside Sherlock, her eyes fixing on the bullet hole in the wood before she looked at the consulting detective;

"What the hell is going on?" she asked him and Sherlock pursed his lips, simply looking back at the young woman as her body began to shake.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he retorted and then heard the sound of sirens and John walking down the steps, his eyes half closed;

"Did I hear shouting?" he yawned and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes at his friend;

"So you managed to sleep through that entire performance?" he snapped. "We just had someone in here who tried to kill us and you continued to sleep like a baby?"

"What?" he became more alert as the sound of 'police' ran out into the living area and Sherlock took the lead;

"You're too late," he told them. "He's gone."

...

"You appear angry," Sherlock commented at three in the morning when he and Scarlett had given statements and were then too pumped to sleep. Scarlett was sat on an armchair, her feet curled up awkwardly beneath her as she continued to narrow her eyes at Sherlock.

"You know that ever since I've known you I've been shot at and burgled?" she told him and he remained stood, leaning against the fireplace as he racked his brain and listened to her speaking to him.

"I am aware, yes," he replied. "But in all fairness this may not be tied into me."

"What?" Scarlett gasped. "I...I've never done anything to anyone before...nothing to hurt them and warrant death anyway...you on the other hand...you warned me you was dangerous."

"And yet here you are," Sherlock exasperated, finally managing to give her eye contact.

"You told me I would be safer staying with you instead of going home," Scarlett retorted and the consultant blinked several times;

"I never said that," he informed her. "I said if you didn't feel safe going back to your home than you could come here...not that it would be any safer."

"Evidentially it isn't," she sneered. "This is crazy."

"I'd agree with you on that," Sherlock muttered.

"I...I need to go...get out..." she said and stood up before moving to place her flat ballet pumps onto her feet and then covering her body with her winter coat and scarf before hurriedly packing away her things into her bag as Sherlock watched her;

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Anywhere but here...I should have listened to you," she told him. "I should have paid attention when you said you could get me killed..."

"And you're back onto assuming it was me who is getting you into this bother," Sherlock replied and she stood up straight and looked at him;

"You said so yourself!" She snapped back at him. "I haven't...it can't be me...no one..."

"Oh I don't know," Sherlock sneered. "Maybe your one night stand realised how cheap you'd been and so decided to get rid of you?"

And that was when Scarlett Jenson broke down. She looked at Sherlock for a moment and he looked back at her, realising he had said the wrong thing as soon as it had escaped his lips.

"Scarlett-"he began but she raised her hand, silencing him and shaking her head;

"Forget it," she whispered. "I don't care," she denied but the tears rolling down her cheeks told Sherlock otherwise, slamming her bag over her shoulder, she hurried for the stairs and ran down them, Sherlock looking after her and then realising he had to catch her up. Quickly, he rushed down and grabbed her arm before she could unlock the door with her quivering hands.

"Scarlett," he half heartedly pleaded with her, his face frowning. "I didn't mean it...I...I kind of lost it."

"No," she shook her head, sniffing. "You're probably right."

Sherlock saw her manage to open the door slightly, and taking control of the situation, he outstretched his hand and slammed it shut, watching as Scarlett turned around to glare at him, his hand still resting on the wood, not allowing it to budge. Suddenly a new voice entered the hall;

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson squeaked out and Sherlock turned to look at her and he shook his head;

"Not now Mrs Hudson," he responded to her. "The police have left, everything is fine."

"So why do you have Scarlett pinned against the door?" Mrs Hudson wondered and Sherlock rolled his eyes at the woman;

"I said not now Mrs Hudson!" he snapped. "Can you leave us for a moment?" and with that the elder woman looked at the couple and then wandered off.

"I have to go Sherlock," Scarlett sighed. "I have...paperwork...at my house...I need it," she lied and Sherlock looked into her eyes;

"You can't lie to me," he said. "I can read through you."

"Okay then," Scarlett gathered a bit more anger in her voice, "maybe I actually can't stand here and not want to punch you."

"At least you're being honest," Sherlock shrugged. "I'm sorry."

"Why did you even say it if you didn't mean it?" Scarlett asked. "Because I know what I did...but I wanted to forget it and I thought you was being genuine when you said you understood."

"I was," he said deeply and lowly. "I still am...you just annoyed me."

"Oh," she flapped her arms to the side "so every time someone annoys you then you snap at them?"

"No" Sherlock denied "you was just really annoying me...you think I don't know it is my fault you're in danger?"

"You said it could be my fault," she pointed out and Sherlock simply just shook his head;

"We both know it isn't," he told her. "But you going on about it didn't help...and I snapped...and I apologise."

"Is it any wonder I was going on?" Scarlett replied back to him, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "I was almost killed."

"As was I," Sherlock said.

"It's a new experience for me" she retorted and Sherlock sighed, shrugging one shoulder;

"I wish I could say the same," he said honestly and elicited a small smile from her lips as she dropped eye contact and then he placed a gentle long finger under her chin and made her look up to him;

"I am sorry," he said, those three words were not spoken from him enough. "Just...don't go...not tonight...God only knows what could happen out there."

"I don't know," Scarlett hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other as Sherlock took her bag from her shoulder and began to walk back up the steps with it;

"I know," he said cockily, but not cockily enough like he usually sounded. Scarlett sighed loudly and trudged back up the steps where John was sat in the living room;

"You two have a lovers tiff?" he asked and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his friend;

"Shut up," he snapped curtly at John, much like he always did. Scarlett reappeared in the doorway and John smiled at her;

"Everything okay?" he asked her and she nodded and smiled forcefully;

"Fine," she said and John nodded once and then stood up;

"Well I'm going back to hit the sack. See you two lovebirds in the morning," he joked.

"I swear to God John that if that assassin comes back then I shall personally see to it that he finds your room first," Sherlock vowed as John chuckled to himself and moved back to his room. Scarlett sat down on the sofa and looked over at Sherlock who was stood up and placing a nicotine patch onto his arm. Scarlett raised her brow quizzically at him; her eyes still cold after his sudden outburst;

"I didn't know you smoked," she commented and Sherlock shook his head;

"I don't," he replied. "They help me think...meditate if you like," Sherlock shrugged.

"Right," Scarlett simply whispered. "Do you want me to take the couch again?"

"No," Sherlock replied. "I'd prefer it if you took my room...it's further from the door," he said "and...after what I said...well..."

"Forget it," Scarlett replied. "We all make mistakes."

"I had no right," Sherlock responded. "I didn't want to hurt you"

"Well you did," Scarlett promised him. "But...I know you're sorry...I'm still mad with you though," she assured him and stood up from the sofa.

"I did save your life perhaps," Sherlock pointed out. "Doesn't that help dissolve the madness?" he tried and Scarlett simply smiled sweetly at him with a sad smile and shook her head;

"Afraid not," she said, brushing past him, but before she could contemplate moving any further, he grabbed her wrist and stopped her, stepping closely to her;

"I am sorry," he said seriously. "And...well...I don't say that to many people."

"I can imagine," Scarlett responded dryly and Sherlock chuckled.

"Goodnight Scarlett," he said.

"Goodnight Sherlock," and he released his hold on her, as she walked she stood in the doorway and turned around for a moment, resting against the doorframe as she knocked on the wood once.

"And Sherlock," she said before he took to his sofa. "Thank you...for tonight."

...

Please review! Thank you to everyone who has put this onto story plus and favourite!


	7. Chapter 7

"I don't think so," Sherlock said, his eyes still shut as he heard Scarlett move through the flat quietly at twenty minutes to eight the next morning after she had been shot at along with Sherlock. Scarlett looked over to the sofa where Sherlock was laid; his hair messed around his face and his face pale white.

"I have to go Sherlock...the firm has a large meeting today," Scarlett told him and he opened his eyes, quickly sitting up and looking over at her as he shook his head firmly.

"You can't go today," he told her. "Someone is out there, possibly after your life and my own by the looks of it."

"So when am I supposed to be able to go out?" Scarlett placed her hand onto her hip, looking over at him and he shrugged;

"When I catch whoever is trying to kill you," he said and noted how Scarlett shut her eyes tightly for a moment and then opened them wide.

"Sherlock," she complained, "can you just not say that someone is trying to kill me, okay? Because I am so scared right now."

"Even though it is true?" Sherlock raised his brow in confusion and Scarlett simply just nodded her head.

"Yes," she snapped. "Even though it is true...because you saying it just makes me more worried."

"And you should be," Sherlock snorted, running his hands through his hair before snapping off his nicotine patch and standing up, pacing up and down the side of the coffee table.

"Sherlock," Scarlett said through gritted teeth. "I don't need reminding...but I can't keep hiding...I'll just get a cab to work and back, nothing will happen."

"I had a case about a cab killer once," Sherlock informed her and noticed how she gulped once and contemplated staying before simply shaking her head;

"No," she said. "I can't..."

"If you go down those steps then I will drag you back Scarlett," Sherlock warned her and she simply chuckled lightly;

"I disagree," she said and Sherlock simply raised his brow, silently telling her that he would and she shouldn't test him. "Look...he has to back off for a while...he won't come back as soon as possible..."

"Clearly you don't know these type of people," Sherlock said. "Until we find out who is after you, then you're staying with me."

"And how am I supposed to earn a living? I have a mortgage...and bills...what do I tell them, some crazy man tried to assassinate me after burgling my home and now this man who has a job which he invented is keeping me hostage to save my life?" she asked sarcastically and Sherlock simply placed his bottom lip over his top and nodded thoughtfully;

"You could tell them that and risk sounding like a complete psychopath...or you could just phone in sick?" he suggested.

"I promise I will be back quickly," she said. "Just let me deliver the paperwork at least...and then I will leave...I promise," she clasped both her hands together and begged him.

"No Scarlett," he said and she rolled her eyes, settling down on the sofa as Sherlock walked into the kitchen.

"Tea?" he questioned her, preparing a pot, but he received no reply. Quickly, he turned around and saw her removing her coat, juggling her phone to her ear;

"I'll be in later...it's just confusing..." she said into the phone and Sherlock watched her, quickly, he shook his head and then moved over to her, taking the phone from her ear and placing it against his own, hearing a old woman shrieking down the phone;

"Good morning, Miss Jenson is unable to come into work today...and probably tomorrow...just put her on holiday leave if you will, maybe for a couple of weeks," Sherlock said into the phone, "and it was very nice speaking to you and judging by your nagging I imagine it is your time in life and so I wish you look through your menopause" Sherlock said and he hung up, placing the phone back into Scarlett's waiting hand.

"You...please...oh God...tell me that didn't happen" Scarlett begged "please tell me you didn't just say that to her..."

"I'm afraid I did," Sherlock said. "Actually, I'm not particularly afraid I did it...I don't really care."

"Are you crazy?" Scarlett spat out.

"No," he said. "Just a highly functioning sociopath...tea?"

"We went on one date. One date...and now you've got me into trouble with work...nearly had me killed...oh my god...oh my god," the realisation suddenly came to Scarlett and she settled down onto the sofa, burying her head into her hands.

"And yet you fail to answer my question" Sherlock replied "I'll make you a hot chocolate then."

"Sherlock!" she suddenly snapped at him. "Just...please tell me this isn't real...oh God...I don't feel well."

"That will be the shock," he assured her, "it will pass soon and then we can speak. Drink up."

He placed a hot chocolate onto the table in front of her as he saw her pale even further and then gulp before standing up and running to the bathroom. Sherlock rolled his eyes before setting his tea down and following her, noticing her head was hanging over the toilet and she was making gurgling sounds. Sherlock bent over her and pulled her hair from her face as she continued to throw up, patting her back as she went.

"Are you okay?" he asked when she moved her head from the seat and flushed the toilet, she nodded and Sherlock helped her to her feet, his hand resting onto her waist as he steadied her.

"I'm sorry..." she said. "I...it all just came back to me...everything that has happened..."

"It's fine," he said deeply to her. "I'll let you clean up in here."

He left her in the bathroom and moved into his own room, quickly changing from his pyjamas and into his purple shirt, leaving the top few buttons open and then palcing his trousers on before placing his socks and shoes on and placing his pyjamas away into a drawer. Sherlock then took it upon himself to go back into the living room where John was sat, drinking Scarlett's hot chocolate.

"I made that for Scarlett," he pointed out and John looked into the liquid before setting it down;

"I'll make her a new one," he said and Sherlock shook his head;

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock said. "She's just thrown up...I doubt she would want anything like that to drink now. I'll get her some water."

"You're being very accommodating," John replied.

"The girl has been burgled, shot at and I have told her she is staying with me until this over. I think accommodating is the least I can be," Sherlock informed his friend. "I've also removed the eyeballs from the bathroom."

"There were eyeballs in the bathroom?" John rolled his eyes. Sherlock did used to worry him with his experiments but he had become accustomed to it.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "They were in the shampoo bottle."

"What?" John gasped in horror. "I used that shampoo..."

"Then your hair has remains of human eyes in it," Sherlock responded.

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson's voice came from the door and she handed him a letter when he walked over to her.

"Mrs Hudson," he greeted her, taking the letter.

"This came in the post for you just now...thought I would deliver it up...is everything okay?" she noticed only John and Sherlock were stood in the room and she placed a hand onto her hip and raised a brow at him;

"Where's your lady friend? Don't tell me you wasn't a gentleman Sherlock. I expected more from you," she scolded Sherlock and then went silent when she saw Scarlett appear to the side of her, smiling kindly before walking into the living room and standing beside Sherlock;

"You don't need to worry Mrs Hudson," Scarlett said. "He was a gentleman in the end."

"Is this like some dream?" John wondered. "Sherlock...gentleman...same sentence..."

"It has been known to happen John. I thank you for the letter Mrs Hudson," he said and the woman knew she was being dismissed and so she took her leave, allowing Sherlock to open the letter. A simple white piece of paper lay in front of him with one letter on it. John looked at it over his shoulder and he pursed his lips together.

"I didn't think it would...I mean...he's resurfaced...but why?" John garbled and Sherlock simply folded the letter up and placed it on the coffee table whilst Scarlett looked confused.

"What is it?" she asked but Sherlock remained silent as did John.

"Sherlock," John murmured. "Why now?"

"Because he thinks he has found a weakness in me," Sherlock said and they both looked at Scarlett who looked back at each of them, finally resting her eyes on Sherlock.

"What is it?" she asked him. "Sherlock...please tell me."

"You have to believe me Scarlett," Sherlock quickly said and walked over to her, resting both his hands onto her cheeks, making her look at him as she began to worry once again. "I never meant for you to get involved in any of this and I would never mean to put you in danger. Ever."

"I know Sherlock," she said to him. "I know you wouldn't."

Sherlock nodded once, knowing she believed him and he ran his hands through his hair whilst Scarlett continued to watch him.

"Please tell me Sherlock," she pleaded, not able to suffer the silence for much longer;

"Moriarty," he simply spoke.


	8. Chapter 8

"Who is Moriarty?" were the first words which escaped Scarlett's lips as Sherlock simply just grabbed hold of the fireplace, bowing his head low, his knuckles turning white as he remained silent, wondering how he was going to get Scarlett out of this situation, and also wondering why Moriarty would even want her. Did he show his likeness to her too much for it to be noticed? He had only taken her out one evening, surely not enough to warrant Moriarty coming after her. But then again, Sherlock never took women on dates. As in never ever.

"Do you plan on answering my question, seeing as how I am the one he is after?" Scarlett exasperated, getting fed up with Sherlock and John's silence. John looked away from her questioning eyes and so she directed them at Sherlock and he felt her stare on him. Slowly, he turned around and simply just stared at the girl. The simple secretary who he had endangered.

"Moriarty is what I'd call a consulting criminal," Sherlock drawled slowly. "He is the opposite of me...I've only met him once...and that was a...interesting conversation."

"A consulting criminal? There's no such thing...is there?" Scarlett wondered and Sherlock allowed a small smile to tug his lips upwards.

"There was no such thing as a consulting detective either," he reminded her. "We're one of a kind."

"So what? He's just some criminal who is after you?" Scarlett asked and Sherlock simply began to pace, holding his hands behind his back, watching the floor which he was pacing on.

"Basically, yes," John replied. "His only aim is to destroy Sherlock."

"And the man who came last night...he didn't intend to kill us," Sherlock suddenly piped up, standing by the desk, watching Scarlett as she placed her hands onto her hips and raised a brow;

"Could have fooled me," she commented. "So the gun was just for show?"

"He intended to scare us...yes...the burglary at your home was so that Moriarty could learn more about you. The assassin didn't want to murder us at all...he wanted to show us a warning that Moriarty was here...that he will come after us."

"You keep using the phrase 'us' a little too often," Scarlett muttered. "I never signed up for this."

"Technically you did," Sherlock pointed out. "Because you never complained when I told you that I was a dangerous person to know."

"I...I never thought...you seemed...so this Moriarty," Scarlett finally managed to stop her blabbering. "Is he really going to try and kill me?"

"I would say so."

"But why?" Scarlett asked, "I didn't do anything to annoy him...not that you ever did...well you must have...by the sounds of it that is."

Sherlock remained silent as he simply just held her eye contact and remained emotionless, unable to give the reason as to why she would be dragged into any of this. Could he admit it to himself? Could he admit that the only reason as to why her life was in danger was because he was falling for her? Wait. Falling for her? Sherlock didn't fall for anyone, or anything, just his work. His work was his priority. It always had to come first so that he could excel in it. But Scarlett? What did he feel to her? He had known the woman for a few days and yet in those few days he had felt happy. It was rare anything entertained Sherlock, apart from his work, and yet here was a woman, stood in his living room, who he couldn't help but be drawn to. He had never experienced anything like this in his life.

"It's clear, isn't it?" John was the one to speak up and both sets of eyes turned onto him, one set wide and one narrowed. It didn't take a genius to work out which set was who's.

"He's trying to torture Sherlock," John said, acting as if the other two were complete idiots. Scarlett simply remained silent, biting her lip so hard she thought she had drawn blood whilst Sherlock remained rigid.

"By me? Why?" Scarlett asked.

"Because he thinks that he likes you," John said and the pair of them simply just looked at each other. Scarlett's blue eyes searched Sherlock's plain ones and then she shook her head;

"Then it's obvious," she said, her voice breaking a little.

"Is it?" Sherlock asked her lowly and she nodded;

"I have to go," she said and Sherlock began to shake his head but Scarlett continued; "as long as I'm here then he can try and get at you...and me...and we both don't need that...if I go then he will see that we're not interested in each other and then we will be safe."

"Do you think the real world works like that?" Sherlock quizzed her.

"Do you think people in the real world have arch enemies Sherlock?" Scarlett snapped, not intending to do so but still managing "we have people who we don't like...but not people who want to kill us."

"But the real world is so boring," Sherlock complained. "And if you leave through that door then he will go after you Scarlett."

"No he won't," Scarlett said. "Because he won't know that we're seeing each other."

"Technically we're not seeing each other...we went on one date."

"And I can honestly say I will never forget it," Scarlett smiled sadly. "Being with you...its crazy Sherlock...and...I don't know if I can handle it."

"Well I fail to care," Sherlock folded his arms and said cockily; "because I am not letting you leave as long as Moriarty is after you."

"You can't stop me," Scarlett replied back. "I like you Sherlock...hell I'd even say I'm attracted to you...I mean who wouldn't be? You're good looking, intelligent, sometimes an arse...but a nice guy."

"She's right," John piped up, "you're an arse sometimes."

"John," Sherlock barked. "Shut up and go away!"

John raised his hands in surrender before turning and leaving through the living room door and into his own room, giving the pair privacy.

"So let me get this straight," Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. "You like me? And yet, you are somehow leaving and not wanting anything to do with me ever again? Sounds slightly contradictory if I have to be honest."

"No." Scarlett said. "I'm going because I like you. As long as I am here then you could get hurt...and I've seen enough people get hurt in my life Sherlock...I'm not going to watch you...because of me...I can't..."

"Moriarty will still track you down Scarlett," Sherlock warned her dangerously. "Even when you go...he'll make sure he gets you so that you can never come back to me...he knows it will hurt me."

"How does he know? Because he doesn't know how you feel," Scarlett said. "You can deny ever feeling anything for me."

"You're the first young woman I have taken on a date Scarlett," Sherlock admitted. "He knows that hurting you would evoke a reaction from me."

"I can't take the risk Sherlock," Scarlett whispered, moving into her coat and placing her scarf around her neck as she picked her bag up. "As long as I am here we both know we're in danger...at least if I leave then there is a chance things can change."

"No. There isn't." Sherlock challenged her and she shook her head;

"You don't know that," she said. "This isn't easy for me Sherlock...hell...this is one of the hardest things I've had to do...but I have to go."

"No," Sherlock said. "Scarlett...you don't...I won't let you," he warned her.

"You have no say," she said sadly and left through the living room door, moving down the steps. Sherlock remained still for a moment and he clenched his hands into fists at the side of his body, gritting his teeth. He had told her not to challenge him and she had done just that. Well no one did that to Sherlock Holmes, and for once, she wasn't going to be the exception. Rushing down the steps he saw her move out the door onto Baker Street, people passing by as she only managed to get a few metres from the doorway before Sherlock ran up alongside her, grasping her by the wrist, her bag falling from her shoulder and onto the pavement.

"I told you," he growled lowly. "Not to contradict me," he said and she looked at him;

"I'm not budging," she jutted her chin out and Sherlock raised a brow, attracting stares from people passing him by as they continued their staring contest, wondering who would make the first move.

"Really?" Sherlock raised a brow and she nodded to confirm his belief.

"Looks like that shall be changing," he said and in one swift movement, he bent over and knocked her feet from under her, his hand moving around her waist as he swiftly slung her over his shoulder. Scarlett screeched out as she thumped on his back and he continued walking back to the flat, attracting looks from people as he went.

"What the hell are you doing? My bag is there!" she yelled as he backtracked on himself and picked it up in his free hand before walking back to the flat.

"Sherlock!" Scarlett yelled "I was saving your life!"

"And getting yourself killed in the process," he retorted, as his hand slipped into dangerous territory and Scarlett's brows picked up and Sherlock chuckled;

"I can tell what you're thinking," he said, placing his hand back onto her waist.

"That you're an arrogant pompous arse?" she snidely said.

"No" he said "although you may have thought that before" he grinned as people just thought he looked crazy. Scarlett gave up hitting his back as her hair moved into her eyes and she continued glaring at the moving pavement.

"People will think you're mad," Scarlett told him.

"People may think what they like as I have no control over their minds," he informed her.

"So what now?" Scarlett asked as he moved back into 221B Baker Street where Mrs Hudson was stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking worried as Sherlock hauled Scarlett back into the flat.

"You stay with me to make sure you don't die," Sherlock told her.

"Well as long as I am with you I seem to be dead," Scarlett quipped back.

"I've gotten out of plenty life and death situations," he assured her as Mrs Hudson shook her head;

"What is this Sherlock?" she asked. "Have you gone mad?"

"No Mrs Hudson," Sherlock assured her. "Scarlett here thought wrong and I'm showing her the errors of her way...but she seems to be protesting," he said, noticing she had begun wriggling in his arms again as he took the stairs and finally reached the living room, removing her from his shoulder and dropping her body onto his sofa, falling on top of her, his knee steadying himself in between hers and his other knee on the edge of the sofa, his hands pinning hers above her head as she continued squirming.

"Scarlett," he said firmly, looking at her. "Please believe me that I know best."

"Why?" she replied forcefully.

"Because I have a higher IQ and I know Moriarty."

"But if you just let it be known that you don't like me..." Scarlett began but Sherlock shook his head;

"It won't work," he told her. "He knows I am interested...he can read me..."

"I still think it would work," Scarlett whispered, not giving in on her opinion as John walked into the living room;

"What the hell was that shouting on the street?" he asked and then saw them two on the sofa.

"So do you plan on staying put?" Sherlock asked her and she shook her head;

"Not as long as it could get you killed," she said and then Sherlock focused his attention on John, turning his head to look at his friend;

"John," he said, remaining cool, "I do believe there is some rope in my bedroom wardrobe if you would be so kind."

"What?" Scarlett snapped. "You're planning on keeping me hostage?"

"As long as it keeps you under my eye and I know you're safe," Sherlock nodded and John simply remained where he was stood;

"You can't keep her here if she doesn't want to be here," John said

"Yes!" Sherlock snapped. "I can...now do it!"

"You'll thank me one day," Sherlock promised her. "When I save your life."

"You're panning on keeping me hostage Sherlock!" she yelled "this is mad!"

"You'd be correct about that," he told her. "But think of it like this, as long as you're with me then I can keep you safe from Moriarty...on your own you're more vulnerable."

"You don't know that," she told him again and he shook his head;

"I do," he said stubbornly as John came back with the rope and handed it to his friend before Sherlock managed to grasp both her wrists into his hand and then tie them together in front of her. Slowly, he raised his body from hers and looked at her as she sat up on the sofa.

"You're mad," Scarlett whispered.

"Don't make me tie your ankles too because I cannot be particularly bothered to have to lug you everywhere. At least that stops you from running off easily," Sherlock said and John looked at him;

"You know, you don't really know how to win a girls heart...normally flowers...chocolate works too...but you opt for keeping her with you twenty four seven," John commented and Sherlock rolled his eyes;

"And yet you both seem to be forgetting that I'm saving her life!" Sherlock flounced and Scarlett stood up, walking into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked her and she rolled her eyes;

"You do realise that if I am being made to stay here then I would like to make myself at home and at the moment I want a bottle of water...unless you have vodka then that would be satisfactory too," she assured him and he shook his head;

"I don't want to be the one mopping you off the floor," he said. "Stick with water."

"You know I did like you?" Scarlett said and Sherlock grinned and she blushed under his intense gaze;

"And your redness confirms you still do," he promised her. "You're just having a sulk because you didn't get your own way."

"Yeah," she snorted. "That's it." And then she moved to the fridge whilst John looked at Sherlock and shook his head;

"You couldn't just do it normally, could you?"

"What?"

"This falling in love business."

"Please," Sherlock begged him with a snort. "I am hardly falling in love with her...just keeping her alive," he said and then they suddenly heard her scream. Sherlock was the one to first react as he saw her looking into the fridge, screaming loudly before he rushed over to her and stood closely behind her, allowing her to turn into his body as both her hands raised onto his chest and he remained still.

"Ah," he said. "I forgot to take that out."

"What?" Scarlett yelled in fright. "You...it's...it's a head!"

"Very observant," he said sarcastically. "It was for an experiment."

Scarlett moved to the side of Sherlock as he shut the fridge door and she looked at him in complete worry.

"And you're sure you won't try to kill me?" she checked. "It's a head Sherlock! No one keeps a head in their fridge!"

"Clearly that statement is wrong as I do keep one in that exact location," he contradicted. "And I won't try to kill you...I didn't kill the person in my fridge either."

"Oh that makes me feel even safer," Scarlett said sarcastically, moving back into the living room and sitting on the armchair, bending over and feeling faint. "A head...in the fridge..."

"So now isn't the time to tell her about the eyeballs in the shampoo?" John couldn't help but wind Sherlock up and he narrowed his eyes at him and Scarlett's went wide and she looked at Sherlock again in complete disarray.

"I swear to God that _you_ will be the death of me."

...

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed recently; England's Rose and zenstarrflower! And to all who have favourite and put this onto Story Plus! Please do leave me a review to let me know what you think! Thank youuu!"


	9. Chapter 9

"It's raining," Scarlett commented that evening as she sprawled herself out on Sherlock's sofa, resting her head on the arm, looking at the ceiling, but if she rolled her eyes far enough back she could see the window and the rain pounding against it. She had calmed down since earlier but she was still annoyed with Sherlock. Clearly he was a stubborn sort. She did kind of understand where he was coming from with keeping her with him. That way he could protect her but who was to say his protection was enough? But if she left then the only person Moriarty was likely to hurt would be her. Staying with Sherlock also meant he was in some kind of danger and Scarlett didn't like the thought of that. Of course, if she could just fancy a normal man then she may not have been in trouble.

"So it is," Sherlock drawled, slightly annoyed she was on _his _sofa and he had to make do with crossing his legs and sitting on the armchair whilst John went out with Sarah. He held a book to his face, peering into it as he heard Scarlett sigh loudly and then make a 'pop' noise with her lips. At first, Sherlock simply gritted his teeth, his neck tightening but she persisted on making the noise.

"Do you mind?" he snapped curtly, dropping his book onto his lap as Scarlett placed her tied hands onto her waist, rolling her head to the side and looking at him, cocking a brow;

"No," she said. "I don't mind."

"Well I do," Sherlock retorted quickly and she grinned smugly;

"Shame," she said and made the noise again, causing Sherlock to stand up and begin searching the drawers in his desk;

"I think I have some tape in here..." he muttered and Scarlett simply sat up quickly, falling slightly off the sofa;

"I'll stop," she said and he smiled smugly this time.

"As I thought," he droned.

"So if I promise to behave, will you untie me?" Scarlett asked. "Because you took it too far."

"If you admit that you were wrong and I was right to keep you here then I may consider removing the ropes," Sherlock bargained, standing in front of her, folding his arms over his chest and raising a brow at her as she rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Fine," she snapped. "You were right...I can see your point...slightly...although me being here could apparently get you hurt."

"Oh don't worry," Sherlock shrugged. "The more I think about, the less I believe Moriarty would actually kill me...he has no one to be equal with then."

"Brilliant," Scarlett complained. "So it's just me he wants dead. So why can't I go then? If he's so determined in finishing me off then he'll do it eventually," she said and Sherlock shook his head;

"He shall not as long as I'm here," he said determinedly and Scarlett simply just shook her head;

"Okay," she said, against her better judgement. "I'll stay put...I promise."

"Good," Sherlock said and sat besides her, undoing the ropes from her wrists, as soon as the rope had fallen onto the fabric, Scarlett grabbed her wrists and rubbed them before feeling Sherlock pick up one of her hands, gently examining her wrist.

"How did you manage to get a bruise?" he asked her softly, looking at her pale skin as she did the same;

"I think I banged it whilst I was rushing around after being shot at..." she said quietly and Sherlock simply nodded, feeling her gaze on his face before he also looked up, feeling her silently edging closer to him, the feel of her knees resting against his as he looked into her blue eyes simply.

"I am sorry," he told her. "But...I knew that if you left then he may get to you...and I can't handle the not knowing."

"It's okay," she replied after a moment. "I kind of...well...get it."

"None of this is okay," Sherlock replied. "I never thought Moriarty would show up. It was bad enough you had to meet Mycroft."

"Well," Scarlett mused, "if it makes you feel any better...I think you're the better sibling."

"Oh I already knew that," Sherlock assured her cockily and then sighed, noting she had something in her hair, he quickly raised his hand, feeling her soft golden curls against his fingers as he pulled the small piece of fluff from it. He saw her simply just look up to see his raised hand and his fingertips produced the fluff, settling it in the middle of them.

"Thanks," Scarlett said in a small voice.

"It is no problem," Sherlock replied. Slowly, he saw her look away for a moment and then back to him;

"You're the strangest man I have ever met Sherlock," she whispered and then just chuckled quietly. "You have an archenemy just like someone in a comic book...you have a job no one else has...you have an extremely scary IQ and not to mention the fact you keep severed heads in your fridge. You also hold people hostage and drag them from the streets when they don't agree with you."

"And you're telling me all that I know, why?" he wondered with a raised brow and Scarlett just simply looked onto the sofa;

"Because...you were right...I...do like you...regardless of your odd faults," she said and Sherlock remained silent. What did he tell her? Was he supposed to tell her that he also like her? Did he like her? Clearly he did...he had held her hostage for her own good...surely that must show that he cared?

"And I get it...if you don't like me...you're someone who is so extraordinary I suppose...and I'm just some dumb blonde who really does have bad habits," she said and Sherlock still remained silent before he picked up the courage to speak, his voice low and deep as he did so;

"You're not just some dumb blonde Scarlett," he said. "Yes, you do have issues with alcohol when you go out and with your alarm in the morning...but you tend to find that most people have issues...and you're not dumb. I saw the photo of you with your first in your Law degree on the walls."

"And yet I'm not a barrister or solicitor," she said. "I must be dumb, I wasn't cut out for it."

"You're not dumb," he said. "It just wasn't for you. People tend to find that out when they leave university with a degree that they do not gain a profession in that field."

"Anyway," Scarlett waved a hand. "I'd get it."

"But I wouldn't," Sherlock said. "No woman has ever captured my eye before...and if they did then I couldn't stand conversation with them for longer than three minutes forty seconds I would say."

"What are you saying Sherlock?" she asked him.

"I'm not sure," he said and stood up suddenly, leaving Scarlett on the edge of the sofa, watching him move into the kitchen;

"Tea?" he called out and she sighed loudly.

"Just water please," she responded, wondering what Sherlock Holmes was thinking. But the problem was, she couldn't tell. At all.

...

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	10. Chapter 10

"We have a case," Sherlock spoke at six a.m. in the morning as he walked into John's room, seeing the doctor sleeping under his sheets, groaning as he heard Sherlock's voice bring him out of the peaceful world he had been in. Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck which was sore after sleeping on the sofa for another night and allowing Scarlett to use his bed. The secretary had, of course, refused profusely but Sherlock had practically reminded her that refusing what he said was not tolerated.

"What?" John asked sleepily and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes.

"Honestly John," he drawled. "You've had at least six hours sleep...I did believe that you would be able to understand one simple sentence I spoke."

"The average amount of sleep is about eight hours," John informed him and Sherlock placed his hands onto his neck, rolling his head around in a feeble attempt to make it loose.

"You don't need that long. Imagine how much of your life you lose because of sleep?" Sherlock told him.

"I really don't mind," John grumbled, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes again whilst Sherlock huffed loudly, watching as his friend went back to sleep.

"Up now John," Sherlock demanded, walking out his room. "Don't make me play the violin."

"Jesus Christ," John said and pushed his covers back, scrambling out of his bed and managing to fall to a lump on the floor. Sherlock grinned at his effort and then moved through the flat to walk into his room where Scarlett was residing, however, this time he opened the door quietly and strode into the room. The lamp was still on in his room and he saw the blonde lay in his bed. Unlike him, she kept to one side of the double bed and didn't sprawl out; her blonde hair was around her head as she lay on her side, one arm draping out the bed and her other arm holding onto the arm out the bed. She was curled up with her knees moving into her waist. Sherlock wondered what to do about her. He couldn't quite simply leave her in the flat. Moriarty was out for her to spark a reaction from Sherlock and he couldn't let it go that far.

"Scarlett," Sherlock whispered lightly as he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of the side which she wasn't laid on. Slowly, he moved his hand and gently touched her shoulder. He felt her stir under his touch but she didn't open her eyes.

"Scarlett," he tried again. "You need to wake up."

"Hmm," she whispered lightly, rolling over onto her other side so she was facing Sherlock. She stuffed one hand under his cushion and slowly prised her eyes open and looked at him, her mouth parting gently.

"Sorry to wake you," he said politely. "But we have a case...and I can't leave you here alone."

"You want me to come?" she whispered and Sherlock nodded at her; running his hands through his black hair.

"Yes," he replied. "I think that would be for the best."

"Okay," she yawned, not putting up a fight like Sherlock had thought she would.

"I'll just get some clothes and let you get up then," Sherlock said, standing up and walking around his room and pulling out clean clothes from his drawers and wardrobe.

"Sherlock?" Scarlett asked and he allowed his eyes to look back at the young woman in his bed;

"Yes?" he asked her.

"Is it alright if we go back to my house? I need more clothes if I'm going to be staying for longer," she pondered, still lay on her side with her eyes shut as Sherlock sighed loudly;

"I don't really want to go back there," he pursed his lips. "If you give me a list of what you need then I'll get someone to fetch them," he promised her and she simply just yawned loudly;

"Okay."

"I'll let you get up," Sherlock said and moved over to the door and then into the bathroom to quickly change. Once he had finished he saw John in the kitchen, switching the toaster on and placing bread into the appliance.

"You want any toast?" he asked Sherlock who shook his head;

"I'm fine," he said.

"What about Scarlett?" John asked and Sherlock shrugged;

"Wouldn't know."

"Well has she calmed down since last night?" John asked, not seeing the two of them since Sherlock had decided to keep her hostage, believing it was okay to just do things like that. But then again, that wasn't saying much, the man kept human heads in his fridge for goodness sakes.

"She was never really that angry," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She was just annoyed she couldn't get her own way."

"Sounds like someone I know," John said and Sherlock sat down on an armchair, allowing his foot to tap against the floor in impatience.

"Are you referring to Sarah? That's not very nice John," Sherlock said, knowing full well that he had been on about him.

"Yes," John said sarcastically. "Of course."

"Morning," Scarlett's voice chirped when she walked into the kitchen and smiled at John who was leant against the worktop, tapping his fingers against it, waiting for his toast to pop.

"Good morning," John said and Sherlock looked at her as she picked up her bag which was beside his sofa. She looked far more relaxed in her skinny jeans, ballet flats and a striped black and white jumper on her body. She searched for her phone, figuring that would be the only thing which she needed when going out with Sherlock. Everything else in her bag would just weigh her down. She slid it into her front pocket in her jeans and looked at Sherlock.

"You know that you can have your bed back," she told him and he simply shrugged;

"Trust me Scarlett," he said. "You're probably in need of it more than me."

"Anyway," Sherlock said, suddenly jumping up from the sofa and handing Scarlett her coat and then placing his own on before he moved his hands into his leather gloves. "Let us go."

"Sherlock!" John complained. "I haven't finished my toast!"

"Eat it on the way," he said and took to the stairs, Scarlett following him but before he opened the door he turned to look at her intently.

"Whilst we're out you need to stick by me and John, okay?" he checked with her. "I don't know if Moriarty will have someone watching or not...my best guess is that he will have..."

"Okay," Scarlett promised and Sherlock held his arm out to her. Slowly and with hesitance, she allowed her hand to rest in the crook of his arm and heard John race down the steps. Sherlock stepped out onto the street, looking around and then sighing as they walked down the street in search of a black cab.

"So did Lestrade say anything about the case?" John asked Sherlock as he caught up with him and stood on his other side.

"He just said I would be interested in it and I'm in need of something to occupy my mind. Heaven knows everything has gone quiet," Sherlock drawled. "And walk beside Scarlett."

"What?" John asked his friend with raised brows.

"Have you not been able to understand any requests of mine this morning?" Sherlock asked, as Scarlett shivered in the cold and continued looking around. John huffed once and then moved to stand beside Scarlett as Sherlock suddenly jumped out and hailed a cab.

He allowed John to enter the black vehicle first and then held onto Scarlett's hand as she moved to sit in the middle before he sat beside her, giving the directions to the home where he needed to be.

As soon as the three of them arrived, Sherlock looked up to the ordinary home and helped Scarlett out before moving over to the tape and holding it up before he saw Donovan stood there, leaning against the railing which was in front of the home.

"Freak," she greeted him. "And the freak's assistant and girlfriend...so what is this then, the Golden Trio?"

"Good morning Donovan," Sherlock greeted the woman. "Lestrade phoned, is he inside?"

"He is," she nodded, seeming tired, but then again, Sherlock deduced she had been there from about five in the morning and so she wasn't her normal witty self.

"Well we shall leave you to it then," Sherlock said and began to walk up the path, John making sure Scarlett followed.

"Whoa," Donovan called out. "Just because you get privileges freak doesn't mean you can start to bring dates to crime scenes in the feeble attempt that they would even understand why you get off on this."

"I'm afraid that Lestrade has already given me permission to bring along Scarlett. So maybe it would be prudent for you to begin to get your facts correct," Sherlock assured her and moved into the house.

"And I told you to take up fishing!" she called out and John rolled his eyes, raised his hand in acknowledgement before he saw Lestrade rushing up some steps to them, coming from the basement.

"Sherlock," he greeted him. "And this must be your girlfriend," he said, looking at Scarlett as Sherlock shook his head and Scarlett agreed;

"She's a..." Sherlock struggled to find the word. What was she?

"I'm a friend..." she said and Lestrade raised his brows. Sherlock didn't have friends, especially not good looking women friends.

"So you never said why she is here," Lestrade replied and Sherlock shrugged;

"It's best if you don't know," he said and moved down the steps and into the cold basement. Scarlett followed him down the concrete steps and saw a man lay flat down on the floor, his arms stretched in front of him as she cringed at the sight, stepping back from the scene and leaning against the cold wall whilst Sherlock and John began an in depth conversation.

"He was stabbed," John stated. "Three times in the neck...with what looks like a small blade, nothing fancy."

"Who reported the death?" Sherlock asked.

"His wife," Lestrade said. "Said she was away on business and came back...found the poor bugger like this."

"Well he was a banker. You can judge by the suit and the hair, also there is the watch and the pen sticking out of his blazer is from the London Stock Exchange, biting of the finger nails indicate that he was under stress, not surprising for a banker, given the economic climate. Clearly he was in a lot of trouble; many members of the public would probably have wanted to finish him off."

"He's been dead around twenty four hours," John informed Sherlock.

"Sherlock," Scarlett suddenly croaked out, her eyes roaming over to the corner of the room where something small sat. She looked at it and Sherlock followed her eyesight. Slowly, he walked over to the gleaming object and with his gloved hands he picked it up and examined it.

"It's mine," Scarlett whispered. "It...it was taken..."

Sherlock held the pendant and looked at it before grabbing bag and bagging it. Scarlett shook as Lestrade simply looked confused.

"So how did it get here?" Lestrade asked.

"Don't," Sherlock demanded and Lestrade raised his brows;

"What?" he asked.

"Think the obvious. She has been with me for the last twenty four hours," Sherlock looked dangerously into Lestrade's eyes. "It's Moriarty"

"Moriarty? That creep who was involved in the bombings?" he checked and Sherlock nodded;

"He's after Scarlett," Sherlock said and Lestrade looked at the girl.

"Why?" he wondered but no one answered him and Sherlock simply just remained silent as did John and Scarlett.

"Is anyone planning on telling me?" Lestrade snapped at the three people in the room.

"Moriarty thinks Sherlock fancies Scarlett...he's trying to kill her to get a reaction from Sherlock and possibly kill him too. We're not sure on that bit."

"What?" Lestrade simply asked and looked at Sherlock and then to Scarlett. "You mean...you two?"

"Nothing is going on," Scarlett said, huffing slightly. Why did Sherlock find it so hard to speak about her to people? Did he not like her? Was he only keeping quiet so that no one thought anything because he didn't want anything? Scarlett couldn't tell. She only wanted to know if he liked her or not. Was that so much to ask?

"I'm going to take this back to the lab," Sherlock said quickly. "Moriarty left it for a reason."

"Fair enough," Lestrade sighed. "Keep me informed," he demanded and Sherlock nodded, rushing for the stairs. John followed and Scarlett followed him quickly. As soon as they entered the outside world they saw Donovan stood speaking with another officer and so they managed to get past her without speaking a word.

"John," Sherlock said. "You go back to Scarlett's house...she needs some things picking up and then I need you to talk to the banker's wife to see what she knows."

"I made a quick list whilst I was getting ready this morning," Scarlett said quietly and handed John a list on paper.

"Keep in touch," Sherlock said, opening the door to a cab and pushing Scarlett gently into it. She sat and stared out the window for a while and Sherlock did the same as her for some amount of time, until he found himself watching her and then he spoke;

"You're quiet," he observed.

"Hm," she agreed. "Just thinking."

"About how your locket ended up at the crime scene and why it did?" Sherlock guessed and she finally looked into his eyes and shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'm wondering about what I mean to you," she was blunt and to the point. Sherlock went quiet and then coughed loudly;

"What do you mean?" he wondered.

"Am I just a friend? Or am I not even that?" she wondered. "Because...if you just want a friend...well...I can't give you that Sherlock."

"You'd find it impossible to be my friend?" he asked her and she sighed loudly;

"I like you Sherlock," she stated.

"Don't friends like each other?" he questioned her.

"I like you more than a friend," she said and he simply went;

"Ah," he whispered. "I see."

"Do you?" she wondered "because I don't think you feel the same."

"And what would give you that impression?"

"You...just the way you act Sherlock."

"Tell me," Sherlock begged her. "If I didn't like you, do you think I would have given you my bed? Do you think I would have held you hostage to try and save you? Or that I would have even offered to take you on a date? Or that I would even let you use my sofa? Becasue I shall have you know that sofa is my most prized possession and normally I dislike anyone who even looks at it never mind sits on it."

Scarlett remained silent.

"As I thought," he drawled. "So yes...I do like you Scarlett...and I have never told anyone that."

...

"How long have we been here?" Sherlock asked as he sat on a stool, his eyes piercing into a microscope as he examined every aspect of the locket.

"Well it's seven p.m." Scarlett drawled. She was sat on the worktop next to the microscope, messing with her phone whilst Sherlock refused to leave until he found something wrong with the locket. Scarlett allowed her feet to dangle off the edge as Sherlock felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

"Can you get that for me?" he asked her and slowly she moved her body from the worktop and stood to the side of Sherlock, her hand moving onto his chest as she pulled his Blackberry from his pocket and she read the text;

"John says he has gone out with Sarah for the night," she told him and handed him the phone, placing it into his pocket.

"Oh goodness," a new voice joined the room and Sherlock remained looking into the microscope whilst Scarlett looked at a smallish woman who had just joined them.

"Molly," Sherlock said without looking up.

"I didn't expect to find you here Sherlock," she stated and placed some paperwork into some cabinets "and you've brought a friend."

"Hmm," Sherlock said, still intrigued by the lens. Scarlett took it upon herself to smile at the woman;

"Scarlett Jenson...I'm a...well..." she said.

"She's a woman I took on a date and now is on some form of hit list and we're trying to catch whoever is trying to kill her," Sherlock said, finally looking from his microscope and Molly's eyes went wide and she fiddled with her hair.

"You?" she gasped. "You took someone on a date?" Scarlett frowned. Why did people tend to obsess over that and not the fact she was being killed? Was he really as unsociable as they all had said?

"I am a male Molly," Sherlock said, pursing his lips. "We have been known to be attracted to the opposite sex. It is how evolution continues."

"But this is you," Molly said. "You've never been interested in anyone."

"Things can change," Sherlock informed her and she nodded;

"Evidentially," she said. "I'll leave you two be then," and then she left the room, one final glare at Scarlett who remained straight lipped and then looked at Sherlock;

"Please tell me you weren't completely oblivious to that?" she asked him and he raised a brow, resting his arm across the worktop.

"To what?" he asked her.

"She clearly dislikes me because she fancies you" Scarlett snorted. "I thought you picked up on everything?"

"I do," he said. "Does she?"

"It is so clear," Scarlett shook her head.

"Hmm," Sherlock mused and Scarlett jumped back onto the work surface as Sherlock stood up and moved around the lab before walking back over to her;

"I can't find anything with the locket," he sulked. "Something isn't right" he picked it up and slowly placed it around her neck, clasping the chain.

"Shouldn't it be kept as evidence?" she whispered as she felt him resting against her knees, his hand lingering on her neck, his touch making her shiver involuntarily as she allowed her legs to part and Sherlock automatically stepped closer to her.

"Technically yes," he whispered. "But I don't think it will matter too much" he promised her, his other hand resting onto her waist.

"You sure?" she checked, one of her hands daring to move into his black curly hair, feeling its softness as her other hand held onto his arm which was on her waist.

"I'm always sure," he told her, searching her eyes, his voice low and soft as he moved closer to her, his head slowly descending closer to hers.

"Sherlock-" she began and pulled back slightly but Sherlock placed his finger to her lips and his hand pushed on her back, moving her closer to him;

"For once," he began quietly. "I'm acting on my instinct...being impulsive...which is something I normally do for the thrill when working a case...just...for once...don't defy me."

"I won't" she said and felt his breath on her cheek;

"Good," he said and his mouth moved to an inch within hers, but before he could even make contact, the lights in the lab went out. Sherlock pulled away, his hands still on Scarlett as he simply began to search for his phone, pulling it out and allowing it to illuminate the dark room.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, grabbing both her hands and pulling her down from the worktop, keeping hold of one of her hands as she panted in fear and then heard the banging of a door.

"What's going on?" she asked him and he used the phone to guide them through the lab, the banging of doors becoming louder.

"Sh..sh..." he told her, when he finally found a cold room after rushing down the fire exit steps into the morgue. He shut the door on them and pulled both of them into the corner, settling on the floor and pulling Scarlett down with him, his hand clasping around her mouth to keep her from breathing loudly. She closed her eyes as she felt Sherlock drag her body so she was resting against his stomach, in between his bent knees. Slowly, the sound of footsteps drew closer and Scarlett and Sherlock both turned rigid as the morgue doors opened and Scarlett felt a tear roll down her eye as she heard a man shout loudly, as if speaking on a phone.

"He's not here boss," he said. "Him or the girl...I don't know...the place is clear...on my way," he said and then with that there was more slamming of doors and Scarlett and Sherlock remained still for another few moments before Sherlock stood up, Scarlett doing the same, allowing him to haul her to her feet where she then flung herself into his arms, her head resting on his chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Sherlock wondered what to do for a moment, his body stiff, before he allowed his own large hands to softly stroke her hair and he rested his chin on the top of her head, silently comforting her.

...

Please leave me a review and let me know what you think about it, hope I'm managing to keep Sherlock in character when he is with Scarlett, I don't want to change him too much!


	11. Chapter 11

"He had come for us, hadn't he?" Scarlett checked as she followed Sherlock back out into the dark night air. Sherlock stood on the main street, looking for a cab whilst Scarlett stood close to him, looking around, and making sure there was no one watching her.

"Scarlett," Sherlock said in a grumble. "Stop looking so suspicious."

"What?" she replied. "I'm...Sherlock I'm petrified."

"You're really not cut out for this, are you?" he said with a small grin on his face.

"What?" she hissed "trying to be killed so that someone can get back at you? No. I'm not"

"Just act normal," he said, missing another cab, "keep your head down and take my hand."

"What?" Scarlett asked him, still looking around the streets which were still bustling at evening time.

"I said," Sherlock repeated, sounding quite bored as he looked at the red dot which was currently on her shoulder, "take my hand."

Scarlett slipped her bare hand into Sherlock's leather clad one before she felt him pull her suddenly to him and then he began running down the pavement, just as the sound of a gunshot hit the pavement.

"Don't look back!" Sherlock yelled at her, his hand keeping hold of hers as the two of them ran through the streets of London, pushing past people who yelled at them to watch where they were going. Scarlett struggled to keep up with Sherlock's long strides and her flat ballet pumps occasionally fell off her feet slightly. Sherlock continued looking ahead; sometimes looking back to make sure that she was keeping with him and not getting separated. Eventually, Sherlock managed to stick his hand out whilst he ran and hailed a cab, quickly pushing her into the cab. She collapsed onto the street whilst he remained outside the cab and looked around;

"Baker Street," Scarlett informed the cab driver as she panted and Sherlock finally settled beside her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her and she nodded, gasping for breath;

"Just...what happened? How did you know he was going to shoot at me?" Scarlett asked Sherlock and he looked at her reddening cheeks and pulled out something which had attached itself to her blonde hair.

"He had a sniper trained at you because there was a red dot on your shoulder," Sherlock said. "I knew if I told you then you would have began to hyperventilate and then we'd both have been in trouble,"

"No kidding?" Scarlett asked. "But thanks."

"Anytime," he smirked at her.

They spent the rest of the journey back to the flat in silence. Occasionally, Sherlock would look at Scarlett whilst she was looking away and then he felt her looking at him when he dropped his gaze. Eventually, they reached Baker Street and Sherlock climbed from the cab, placing his hand onto Scarlett's back and protectively leaning over her, moving into the building without thinking.

"I've been phoning you," John snapped when he saw Sherlock walk up the stairs and he and Scarlett both collapsed onto seats. Sherlock fell back into his sofa and Scarlett took to the plush armchair, removing her coat slowly.

"We've been slightly busy trying to get out of tight situations," Sherlock responded. "Someone in the lab tried to find us...and then there was a sniper on the building tops..."

"What?" John gasped. "And you're both okay?"

"Clearly John," Sherlock replied curtly. "Well...is she listening to us?"

John and Sherlock turned their gazes onto Scarlett who was simply looking at the fireplace mantle top as if it was the most intriguing thing she had seen in her entire life. Sherlock stood up again and moved over to her, crouching down as he waved a hand in front of her eyes, snapping her out of trance.

"Hm?" She asked Sherlock and he raised a questioning brow. "Sorry...I wasn't...well...just thinking...that's all."

"Care to share?"

"No," she replied. "It doesn't matter..."

"Pot of tea wouldn't go amiss," Sherlock hinted, looking at John as he remained crouched in front of Scarlett. Both of them looked at John and he finally got the message and moved quickly into the kitchen.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he checked with her.

"No." she said. "I...why do you think he killed the banker and left my locket...it's not like he could frame me for it; is it?"

"I am unsure at this moment in time," Sherlock admitted; his voice also a faint whisper. "But there has to be a reason for this...Moriarty doesn't do things randomly. He has a plan to everything."

"I just find it odd," Scarlett muttered. "As if...it is somehow...my fault because my locket was found there."

"None of this is your fault," Sherlock told her and she lowered her eyes from his gaze and he stood up. "You can't think like that"

"No," she agreed. "I'll be back in a moment," she said and stood up, moving past Sherlock as he watched her disappear into the bathroom. Once inside the bathroom, she sat on the closed toilet sit, dropping her head down as far as possible, feeling faint with the sudden day's events. It was crazy. Suddenly, she felt her phone in her front pocket vibrate. The number was unknown. Scarlett answered it slowly, standing up and shaking as she did so;

"Hello," she answered

"Miss Jenson," a high pitched male voice spoke down the phone. "Pleasure to speak with you."

"Who is this?" Scarlett asked.

"My name is Jim," he chuckled. "You may know me as Moriarty, depending on what Sherlock has been telling you."

"What do you want?" Scarlett asked him, her voice shaking as she paced up and down the room.

"Oh Miss Jenson," he said, his voice pitching differently. "As if it is not obvious. I thought leaving your locket at the crime scene would make it obvious."

"What?" Scarlett asked. "I know...I know you want...to kill me...but why?"

"It's a slight shame," Moriarty spoke. "To kill you; you seem like a nice girl. But you're not perfect are you? Not the type I would see Sherlock going for...speaking of Sherlock...how is he? Seeing as how he's been sleeping on the sofa recently I wondered if he's been even grouchier than normal."

"How do you know that?" Scarlett asked.

"I'm watching your every move Scarlett," he said lowly. "Very interesting how he kept you hostage for a while too...he did right...because I would have killed you easily if you left him."

"So you're watching us in the flat?" Scarlett asked and Moriarty chuckled;

"Got there eventually...there's cameras in every room...it was quite easy to do if I have to be honest with you. Of course, I don't do things like this myself. Get people to do my dirty work, much easier," Moriarty drawled.

"But why did you leave my locket there?" Scarlett wondered, trying to be quiet in the bathroom.

"To let you know that at every crime scene I shall leave a possession of yours which I took."

"You plan to make more crime scenes?" Scarlett gasped.

"Oh yes...and every time I leave your item there...it shall show you that it is dedicated to you...you'll always be reminded," he said.

"You're sick," Scarlett couldn't help but spit out. "Why? That's horrible...these can be innocent people..."

"Oh. They're hardly innocent my dear," he promised her. "But you can make it stop...and maybe if you do as I ask I may consider not hurting Sherlock as well. You don't want him to get hurt, do you?" he lied to her.

"Of course not," Scarlett answered quickly. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Well you can stop the killings and keep Sherlock safe by doing a very easy thing," he promised her something that would never happen.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Meet me someplace...let's say...Alex's Cafe...the place where Sherlock first asked you out," Moriarty said.

"How do you know that?" Scarlett muttered.

"I know everything dear," he said. "Be there in another three hours...and tell Sherlock where you're going too."

"No," Scarlett said. "You can't hurt him...your promised."

"I won't hurt him," Moriarty said. "I won't lay a finger on him."

"Why do you want him there?"

"To watch you die. To see him break down...to hurt him."

"Please don't make him come," Scarlett pleaded.

"You're not in the place to make demands!" he yelled at her down the phone. "Do it and you keep him safe and I stop dedicating my killings to you."

And with that, he hung up. Scarlett looked at her phone as it went back to the screensaver of her and her brother. Slowly, she placed her phone back into her pocket, splashing her face with cold water as she looked at her reflection in the mirror and then she pulled herself together.

...

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked as Scarlett placed her coat onto her arms and she moved down the steps. Sherlock hurriedly grabbed his grey coat and scarf and followed her as he took the steps two at a time, rushing out into the cold night after her.

"Just for a walk," Scarlett whispered when Sherlock caught up with her. He nodded once, knowing where she was going to and he wasn't planning on letting her leave that easily.

"Didn't I tell you that you are a terrible liar? And also, if you plan to lie to me then you should get some practice at it," Sherlock warned her, resting his hand onto her shoulder, turning her around and making her look at him as he noted she had red eyes and had been crying.

"Sherlock..." she whispered. "He said..."

"I know," Sherlock said. "Let me guess, he promised not to kill me or anyone else if you gave yourself up?"

"Yes...but it has to be the best thing to do..."

"No," Sherlock said. "Those people who Moriarty kill Scarlett...people get him to kill them...he will kill people regardless of you being here or not...he just tried to twist your mind by leaving your locket with the corpse."

"What?" Scarlett asked and Sherlock nodded;

"You heard me," he said. "He is like some kind of hit man...but he gets other people to do the job for him...he doesn't dirty his hands...so deaths will happen regardless."

"He said...Sherlock...he said he won't kill you...if I go..." Scarlett said and Sherlock shook his head at her, his hand automatically going to her arm and pulling her closer to him;

"He lies Scarlett...he'll kill me when he wants to. He threatened that...come back with me...believe me..."

"I do believe you," Scarlett said. "I just don't know what to do"

"Yes you do," Sherlock assured her. "You don't go to him."

"He has cameras in your flat," Scarlett blurted out and Sherlock raised a brow;

"He placed them there? I'd always assumed Mycroft would do something like that," Sherlock stated blandly, shaking his head once again. "I'll have them removed as soon as possible then."

"Sherlock!" Scarlett snapped him out of a small trance he had gone into. "What do I do?"

"Everything he has told you has been a lie," Sherlock promised her. "He'll hurt people and will continue to even when you're stone cold in the morgue," he said, causing her to shudder.

"Really?" Scarlett checked and Sherlock nodded;

"Really," he said. "Now come back with me..." Scarlett hesitated for a moment and then looked down the street and back at Sherlock who was waiting patiently for her, before hse made her decision, trusting the man in front of her more than some criminal;

"Okay," Scarlett agreed, "How did you know?"

"That Moriarty had called you? I was removing the head from the fridge and I heard you muttering on the phone. I assumed Moriarty would be calling you eventually."

"This is madness," Scarlett said, walking back with Sherlock to 221B Baker Street. "To think I may have gone..."

"Well you didn't," Sherlock said curtly. "And next time anything like that happens I should hope you will tell me."

"I didn't know what to do," Scarlett murmured. "What will he do when he sees I don't go there and you don't follow?"

"Get mad," Sherlock drawled lightly. "He's good at that. But don't worry," Sherlock shrugged. "People will still die and you'll get your things back if he continues to leave them at crime scenes."

"That's horrible," Scarlett gasped. "I don't want them back. He can keep them. Lying git," she hissed and Sherlock chuckled as they walked back up the stairs, but before Scarlett could even enter the living room, Sherlock stood on the steps, pulling her back to him as they stood on the quiet steps and looked at each other;

"What is it?" she asked him and he said nothing;

"I'm just thinking," he said. "About being impulsive."

"Again?" Scarlett raised a brow and Sherlock nodded;

"I could have just lost you Scarlett," Sherlock whispered. "The only woman who has entertained me for a long period of time."

"Well you didn't," Scarlett said. "You managed to convince me he was lying."

"Hmm," Sherlock mused. "That's true...so just be quiet."

"Well I would be but I mean John is just up there and Mrs Hudson is downstairs so I don't think it's the time or the place and to be honest I'm still not completely positive what is going on, what with this Moriarty person lying to me and really wanting me dead to get to you...I'm just slightly confused and on edge," Scarlett whispered as she felt Sherlock draw closer to her as they remained stood on the steps and Sherlock rolled his eyes at her;

"Scarlett?" he checked with her.

"Yeah?" she wondered, watching his eyes move closer to hers;

"Just shut up," he instructed her.

"You could have said be quiet or something more polite Sherlock-" she began her nervous blathering but was cut off when she felt Sherlock gently press his lips to her, her hands held onto his skinny upper arms as he rested his hands softly onto her waist before pulling away from her, keeping it sweet and short.

"Whoa," Scarlett said.

"Hmm," Sherlock said, releasing her, allowing her to rest against the banister as he took the wall to lean on.

"This is so surreal," Scarlett said, her eyes going wide whilst Sherlock smirked smugly at her;

"I didn't know I had that effect on women," he grinned and she rolled her eyes and folded her arms;

"Don't flatter yourself," she instructed him, moving back up the steps to where John was sat;

"You two okay?" He asked. "I didn't know where you'd gone when I went to the bathroom."

"I'm fine," Scarlett smiled and Sherlock walked into the room, removing his coat again and yawning loudly;

"Another cup of tea wouldn't hurt John," he assured his flatmate as Scarlett sat down on the empty chair and he laid on his sofa, wondering where he had even got the nerve to kiss her from.

...

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	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock slipped out into the night of Baker Street, walking aimlessly along the pavement, taking one quick look back at flat 221B where he could see the light to his room glowing from behind the curtains. He hoped she hadn't heard him sneak out after he had told her she could obviously do with some rest. Sherlock placed his leather gloves onto his hands, walking down the street, knowing exactly where he had to go after leaving a message on his blog for Moriarty to see. Sherlock remained cool and calm, clasping his hands behind his back as he thought of the evening's events. However, one memory particularly stood out for him. And that was the kiss he had given Scarlett. He was so shocked with himself the more he took time to reflect on it. He had been slightly pushy but he knew she had wanted it as much as he had done at the moment in time. Did normal people kiss as soon as they had done? But that was the problem. They weren't normal. Not one little bit of his life had ever been normal and he knew that would never change due to the fact he never wanted it to change. But Scarlett was another matter. He knew from looking at her that she wanted a stable life, one which wasn't full of thrills and danger. They were on different side of the spectrum, but why was it that Sherlock was still drawn to her? He didn't love her. Love would be an emotion far too strong for either of them to handle at that moment in time and quite clearly, Sherlock wasn't sure how to feel love. He was fond of her perhaps, she had made him feel different and of course he was attracted to her, she was stunning to him and he was, after all, just a male, not some form of robot. Sherlock walked into the theatre hall, the doors still being unlocked as he made his way inside, walking into theatre number one, noting that the lights were already on, and a tall man stood on the stage. Sherlock remained at the top of the steps, looking down at Moriarty, feeling a strange urge to pull his gun out and shoot the criminal there and then.

"Well, well, well," Moriarty smirked as Sherlock walked down one step. "Sherlock Holmes, long time no see."

"Not long enough if you were to ask me," Sherlock drawled.

"I was supposed to have a meeting with you and your little girlfriend earlier," Moriarty informed Sherlock, pacing along the stage, his hands held behind his back. "But the girl never showed...and then you removed the cameras I so strategically placed."

"Well," Sherlock moved his head to the side for a moment. "I considered it a bit rude, what you were doing."

"I thought you would...so you managed to get Scarlett to realise the truth? That her coming wouldn't save you or anyone else?" Moriarty raised a brow.

"It wasn't that difficult to be honest," Sherlock said ."All it took was a bit of honesty, but I do congratulate you, getting into contact with her and twisting the truth...but it was a very poor attempt at manipulation. And when she realised the she would only be killing herself...well...she had a change of heart."

"And you truly think I won't get to her?" Moriarty looked at Sherlock who stood three steps up, sitting down on the arm of a chair at the end of a row, turning his body slightly to look at Moriarty.

"I think you should give up trying to get to her," Sherlock responded. "Because if you truly think that by killing her you will destroy me then you're sadly mistaken"

"So you believe that, do you?" Moriarty asked. "So you're telling me that her death wouldn't affect you in any way?"

"Oh," Sherlock raised a brow. "I wouldn't say it wouldn't affect me...I should be slightly upset I imagine...but I would get over it in time and then when I did...I'd be back to my normal peachy self."

"You can't fool me Sherlock," Moriarty grinned, his voice going two octaves higher. "You took her on a date for goodness sakes! You! The man who prides himself on not needing anyone in this world."

"I don't need anyone," Sherlock said, looking him in the eye. "Like I remember telling you, I don't have a heart."

"So why did you ask to meet me here?" Moriarty asked, shrugging his shoulders and buttoning his jacket up. "What did you want?"

"I just wanted to tell you that if you plan to try and hurt me via Scarlett then you're wasting your time and I can clearly tell that you wouldn't want to do that because you're an extremely busy man as I know," Sherlock drawled, looking down onto his hands as he did so, looking anywhere but Moriarty so he couldn't tell that he was lying.

"I know you feel something for her Sherlock," Moriarty replied. "I've been watching you...the protectiveness...there's something there."

"Is there?" the rhetorical question circled them. "Because I can assure you there is nothing...yes, she may be a friend one day...but I am warning you not to hurt her."

"So you do feel something?" Moriarty replied and Sherlock rolled his eyes;

"Are you really dim tonight or is it just an act?" Sherlock wondered and Moriarty glared threateningly at him as Sherlock continued. "The girl has been through enough in her life without you adding salt to her injuries."

"So why do you care so much?" Moriarty asked. "If you're so set against falling for her then why do you care if she lives or not?"

"Because it is a waste of a life," Sherlock retorted. "She has done nothing to deserve this and we both know that."

"Please!" Moriarty suddenly yelled. "Can you drop the act! I know! Okay, Sherlock! I know you fancy her!"

"I do not!" Sherlock yelled back, trying to keep up his pretence. "I have my work! That is the one thing that keeps me going!"

"And yet you managed to find time to take her out? To take her to a crime scene and to allow her to have your room? And you're still trying to kid me?" Moriarty yelled and Sherlock went silent for a moment, the features on his face faltering for a moment. And that one moment was all Moriarty needed. His face picked up and he smiled wickedly at the consulting detective.

"Ah," he simply grinned. "You can't deny it Sherlock...so please don't bother."

"I don't think I shall waste my breath. You don't seem to be believing me," Sherlock said, hell he didn't even believe himself.

"Because you can't lie to me...I wonder what it would be like...having her here...watching her beg for life as she looked at you, calling out your name, pleading with you to save her. But you'd be powerless...unable to do anything to help her. Just sit there and watch her as the life slowly drained from her body, her last words begging you for help," Moriarty tormented and Sherlock paled even further and the man chuckled.

"I thought so," he said. "I'll tell you what Sherlock...we'll play a little game, shall we? I know you like them and so I shall leave you and Scarlett be...for some time...and then I'll come back. and even if you're not with her then I shall still hurt her...because she is the only woman who has ever captured your eye."

Sherlock lifted his head to look at the stage, doing it slowly and dangerously as he stood up, drawing his gun and holding it by his side, his eyes narrowed as Moriarty had finally managed to push the right buttons to draw a reaction from him.

"Leave her alone," Sherlock warned him. "I won't let you hurt her," he said, raising the gun and pointing it at Moriarty who suddenly slapped his hand onto his forehead and blinked several time;

"Oh," he said. "Déjà vu...you threatening me."

"This time I'll do more than threaten you," Sherlock promised, the gun clicking, the sound echoing the eerily bright room as Moriarty grinned;

"Watch your back Sherlock," he warned him. "Because I'll be after it" and then there was a sudden burst of smoke. Sherlock fired the gun several times into the mist, each time nothing was heard in response as he ran to the wood, the gun still in his hand as he looked around the theatre.

"Crap," he muttered and shook his head.

...

Sherlock dejectedly opened the door to 221B Baker Street. Moriarty may have gone for the time being. But Sherlock knew he would be back. His plan had been to make Sherlock fall for Scarlett even more over time, make him realise he may love her. And even if Sherlock just told Scarlett to leave she would still die, but it may not hurt his feelings as much. Sherlock had to hand it to him; he was cleverly cunning. But Sherlock would find a plan. He would find a way to get one step in front of Moriarty and the next time he met him, he would kill him.

"I fail to know," a slow voice spoke in the darkness as Sherlock walked into the living room. "Whether or not I should even attempt to know what runs through your head."

Sherlock flipped the light switch on and raised his brow as he saw Scarlett sat on his sofa, her legs crossed beneath her as she wore a simple grey vest top and grey sweat pants as she looked at him.

"Trust me," Sherlock assured her. "You wouldn't even begin to imagine what goes on in my mind."

"Where have you been?" she asked him quickly as he removed his coat and scarf, looking at the clock which read two in the morning.

"Goodness,"" he droned. "Is that the time? Well, best be off to sleep, wouldn't you say?"

"Sherlock!" She snapped at him. "Where have you been?"

"For a walk," he looked into her eyes and she shook her head defiantly.

"You're lying," she stated. "Tell me."

"And it so happened that on my walk I bumped into an archenemy as one does," he replied and Scarlett nodded;

"Okay then," she said. "What happened? Presumably no one died."

"Unfortunately not," Sherlock said. "Tried to shoot him...but he's gone."

"He's gone?" Scarlett asked, a twinkle entering her eyes as Sherlock nodded and shrugged at the same time, pinching the bridge of his nose and settling himself onto an armchair, crossing his legs and pulling out his violin, playing with the strings of it;

"For now," Sherlock mused. "He said he would come back even though I assured him that I felt nothing for you."

"What?" Scarlett managed to snap at him and he rolled his eyes;

"Must you constantly speak so loud?" he asked her. "And I was, of course, lying. Although he managed to see straight through it...it's almost horrible to think of classing him as my intellectual equal."

"Sherlock," Scarlett sighed. "So what now? He's gone but could come back?"

"Basically yes," Sherlock said and flicked a string. "But don't worry...I'll manage to get one step ahead of him and stop him before he can hurt you."

"Oh," Scarlett simply said. If any other man had told her that he would easily manage to thwart a master criminal then she would have laughed in their face and told them not to be so stupid. But when it came from Sherlock's lips then she couldn't help but think that maybe he could do it, for he was the most cunning man she had ever met.

"And do you have any idea how worried I was?" Scarlett suddenly raised a brow.

"You need not worry yourself over my welfare," he told her and she snorted and shook her head;

"So that means you shouldn't worry over mine," Scarlett retorted. "It works both ways"

"I hate that saying," Sherlock complained. "Because many things don't work both ways at all. It is such an annoyance."

"I came back in here to get my bag and then I find you gone Sherlock. I had no idea where you had gone and so I began to panic..."

"Then I apologise for any missed sleep you need to catch up on," he informed her, still thinking about how to stop Moriarty.

"I don't care about sleep...I care about...doesn't matter," she grumbled and stood up, walking off down the hall to his room. Sherlock would have stopped her, but he knew what she would have said to him. He knew what she cared about. And that was something that made him smile a little.

...

Thanks to anyone who has put this on story plus or favourite over the time! Please review!


	13. Chapter 13

"Jesus Christ!" Scarlett shouted as soon as she woke up the next morning to the sound of a gunshot. Jumping out of Sherlock's bed, she pulled down her vest top and peeked her head out of Sherlock's room, looking down the corridor, but everything was silent. There was no one screaming for their life or begging for forgiveness. Scarlett moved down the hallway and finally saw Sherlock, lounged out in his chair, a gun held in his hand as he draped it by his side.

"Ah," he said. "Good morning."

"What the hell?" Scarlett shrieked. "That was you?"

"You didn't think we were being shot at again did you? Moriarty has gone for a while I do believe. You can calm down," he promised her and she rolled her eyes, her hands moving onto her head as she turned away from him and took a deep breath.

"Normal people, Sherlock," she began, turning around quickly and looking at him with narrowed eyes as he arrogantly smirked at her. "Don't shoot walls! Especially when they know they have someone in their home who has almost been killed."

"Almost being the key word," he pointed out. "You weren't so it shouldn't bother you," he said, waving the gun around in his hand as he pointed it at Scarlett and she jumped to the side in absolute horror, raising her hands, her palms held upright and flat;

"Stop waving that thing around!" she demanded him.

"Oh don't panic, I put it onto safety mode," he assured her and she wandered off back down the hallway and Sherlock watched her intently;

"You don't normally sway your hips that much," he commented and smirked when she didn't say anything cocky in return to him and instead he could simply just tell she had gone red. Sherlock flipped the gun in his hand and sighed loudly, wondering what to do. And more importantly, wondering when Moriarty would return, because he knew that when he did, he would be ready. He would manage to be one step in front. Sherlock tossed the gun to the side and leapt out of the chair, his dressing gown spinning around him, finally noticing the note on the coffee table which John had left him, informing him that he had gone out early. Walking down the corridor, he moved down and to his room, knocking on the door.

"Yeah?" Scarlett asked and he moved into it, seeing that the girl still wasn't changed but she was packing away things and making Sherlock's bed.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Packing," she stated. "There's no point me staying here if you say Moriarty has gone."

"He'll return one day," Sherlock warned her.

"But I can't keep living here Sherlock," she said. "It's not right I keep making you sleep on the couch and we don't even know each other that well."

"I believe we do," Sherlock replied. "I think we've spent enough time with each other to realise we do know a lot."

"No," Scarlett said. "You know me because you can do that thingy that you do," she waved a hand, not sure how to explain Sherlock's talent.

"So..." Sherlock said, sitting down on his bed which Scarlett had just made, creasing it again which earned a sigh from her.

"So what?" Scarlett wondered, flopping down onto the bed, her top half laying flat on the bed as her waist bent down and her feet remained on the floor, her eyes looking up at Sherlock as his shifted around uncomfortably.

"Us?" he asked her. "Because the way I look at it Moriarty is going to attempt to kill you regardless of if we stay in touch or not."

"Wonderful," Scarlett complained. "Do you think I will know when he plans to kill me? Will there be a warning?"

"Oh knowing Moriarty there will be a warning," he promised her. "But...when that time comes I'll keep him away from you...and you seem a lot calmer about knowing someone is trying to kill you," Sherlock said, finally looking into her eyes as she shrugged, her chest heaving slightly.

"I...I have to be, don't I? I can't keep hiding...not knowing..." Scarlett said, holding back a silent tear which Sherlock still managed to see as he looked down onto her.

"I can promise you Scarlett," he said. "That I will solve this."

"And somehow Sherlock," Scarlett replied in a small voice. "I...I believe you...you're a truly...amazing...and crazy person."

"I shall take that as a compliment," he assured her. "And are you sure about leaving?"

"I have a home Sherlock. There isn't enough room for three of us here," she said.

"You know," Sherlock said, clasping his hands together and looking at the ceiling opposite his bed. "I didn't know John before he moved in as a flat mate? I had only just met him once."

"Really?" Scarlett asked in shock, looking to the ceiling.

"Hm," Sherlock said, confirming her beliefs. "So it isn't imperative that you leave."

"I don't know Sherlock," Scarlett sighed. "It all seems so hasty...relationships aren't normally this rushed."

"Relationships?" Sherlock asked her and saw her turn red through the corner of his eye, his lips turning upwards at the side as Scarlett shrugged;

"What are we Sherlock?" she asked him.

"Do we have to be something?" he asked her. "I mean do we really need to classify us into something?"

"No," Scarlett said. "I...I mean..if you don't want to be anything then I get it."

"I don't know what I want," Sherlock suddenly huffed, folding his arms and thinking about what he wanted. "What we feel is all down to chemical reactions in our body at the end of the day."

"Peas help people to fall in love," Scarlett suddenly said and Sherlock managed to look at her with a raised brow and she shrugged at him;

"What?" She wondered. "It was off a programme I watched once"

"And you remembered that piece of trivial knowledge?" he quizzed her and she simply nodded;

"Yes," she replied.

"Strange thing to remember," he murmured.

"Strange thing to not remember is that the Earth orbits the sun," she said with a sly smile and Sherlock laid on his side, facing away from her as she sat up, laughing to herself as she looked at Sherlock's back.

"So have you and John been gossiping?" he asked her and she jumped up from the bed and began to zip up her bag;

"I read his blog," she said. "When I was finding out about you."

"Humph," Sherlock grunted. "It's not important."

"No," Scarlett played along with him, not wanting to make him go off in a sulk with her. "Of course not."

Sherlock quickly sat up again and looked at her;

"Don't humour me," he demanded from her and she rolled her eyes;

"If it saves me from having to argue with you then I am more than happy to humour you," Scarlett promised him. "Anyway," she changed the subject, "I'm off to get my stuff from the bathroom and change...then I'll go."

"Look," Sherlock said, standing up and blocking her from leaving through the door. "I...there is room for you here...we can make room."

"No you can't," Scarlett said and Sherlock shook his head;

"We can," he retorted. "And it would make me feel better...knowing you are here...for when Moriarty returns...and besides, it may help save on the rent slightly."

"Sherlock," Scarlett complained. "I have a perfectly good house."

"Where you're all alone," Sherlock commented. "I'll make you a deal. A two week trial? And you can be mine and John's new flatmate if we manage to not get on top of each other."

"Is there any point with me arguing?" she asked and Sherlock grinned cockily and stood tall;

"Not much point," he replied. "Your company has been most enjoyable over the time I have been with you. It would be a shame for it to stop."

"You've enjoyed being with me?" Scarlett scoffed and Sherlock shrugged;

"Most of the time when you haven't been in a mood with me, yes," he admitted. "I have been told that I am more of a pain to live with than most."

"You are," Scarlett chuckled. "You keep a head in your fridge Sherlock and human eyeballs in your shampoo."

"Experiments," he defended his actions. "When I have no case."

"Well I hope I have a job to go back to," Scarlett said and Sherlock looked up to the ceiling, making an 'ah' noise.

"What?" Scarlett asked, looking at him;

"Well your firm phoned last night whilst you were busy...and well...they fired you," he said.

"They fired me?" she snapped

"I'm going to have to get used to you shrieking like a banshee," Sherlock said and she set herself down onto the bed, gripping onto her hair, feeling like pulling it out.

"Well I'll have to find another job...the money was good..."

"The job was boring," Sherlock said.

"It was a job," she retorted. "I earned good money. And why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"There never seemed to be a right moment," Sherlock shrugged. "And you know now so I don't know why you're complaining. If anything it gives you more freedom."

"You do know that I will now have to move in?" She told him "because my mortgage is ridiculous and I can't afford it without being paid...then there are bills..."

"So all in all," Sherlock said. "It worked out for the best"

"No," Scarlett replied. "It didn't"

...

By one o'clock in the afternoon, Sherlock and Scarlett had managed to pack things for her to move into Sherlock and John's flat and she had also been searching for another job. But it seemed nowhere wanted a secretary at that moment in time. By three o'clock Scarlett had managed to clog up Sherlock's bathroom with all her jars, pots and bottles of creams and liquids. When Sherlock walked in, he wondered if he had done the right thing, inviting her to live with him.

"Scarlett!" he summoned her and she moved down the hall and to the bathroom, leaning against the doorway and looking at Sherlock;

"Yeah?" she asked, her blonde hair bouncing by her side as Sherlock raised his hands and spun around the bathroom;

"What has happened?" he asked her "all of this? What is it?"

"Just stuff?" she shrugged "shower gel, face wash, face wipes, make up bag...you said that I could move in!" she pointed out and Sherlock scoffed;

"I didn't think you'd be bringing the whole of Boots with you!" he retorted and she rolled her eyes, moving out the bathroom;

"You're exaggerating," she informed him as she walked away and he closed the door on the bathroom and followed her into the kitchen where she was stocking the fridge with food and not human body parts. John walked into the flat, Sherlock had text him of Scarlett's moving in with them because he could still keep an eye on her and it would make rent easier for all of them.

"John!" Sherlock pointed at his friend and then down the hallway "go and see what Scarlett did to the bathroom!"

"What?" John asked, taking his coat off. "Don't tell me you've gotten her into filling up toilet rolls with different human hairs?"

"What?" Scarlett asked, looking at Sherlock.

"I did it once," he rolled his eyes. " As an experiment"

"These experiments are beginning to worry me," she informed Sherlock who looked back to John;

"She's filled the bathroom with pots of potions-"

"Potions? I'm not a witch Sherlock," Scarlett interrupted him and then he looked at the fridge;

"And she has filled the fridge," he said and John gasped in mock horror;

"How could she?" he asked sarcastically and Scarlett chuckled whilst Sherlock huffed slightly.

"So." John said. "The main question is...where are you going to sleep?"

...

"I swear you had best not kick in your sleep," Scarlett said as she lay on the other end of Sherlock's bed, facing away from him as he lay on his side, facing away from her as they stared into the darkness.

"Well if I do," Sherlock drawled. "You'll be the first to know."

"I'll kick you back," she warned him.

"And then I'll kick you off," he said, looking forward to a good night sleep in his own bed but not wanting to inflict a bad one onto Scarlett.

"Charming, aren't you?" she whispered.

"Not one of my known traits," he said. "And I have a question for you."

"What?" she wondered what it could be.

"You've never mentioned anything...about last night..."

"Oh," Scarlett said, blushing in the dark. "That."

"Yes," Sherlock replied. _"That."_

"What do you want me to say?" She wondered. "If you want me to boast about how sweet you was to boost your ego then I doubt you're in need of that."

"It never hurts to boost my ego further," he assured her, grinning. "But you don't regret it?"

"No," she said. "Do you?"

"Goodnight Scarlett," he tormented her, refusing to answer the question. But Scarlett wasn't taking that as an answer. She leaned to the beside table at the edge of his double bed and flicked on the light, rolling over and looking at him as he felt her gaze on his back;

"I am not taking that for an answer Sherlock," she told him.

"So you do care about if I liked it?" he checked, still not looking at her.

"Well...yeah," Scarlett replied. "I'd kind of like to know."

Sherlock heaved himself over and sat up, facing her as his hands went behind his head and he looked to the ceiling.

"Sherlock," she growled. "I want an answer," she demanded and he just smirked at her;

"God damn it Sherlock!" she snapped "I don't know why you infuriate me so much...and why can't you just answer a question because now I am going to be feeling all insecure and wondering if it was alright and if it meant anything to you!"

"Well," Sherlock said, shrugging his shoulders. "We can always give it another go."

"Not in the mood," Scarlett huffed, rolling onto her side and turning her light off as Sherlock's grin feel from his face;

"Sulking does not become you," he informed her.

"It doesn't become you either," she said and once again rolled over to see him again in the darkness, making out his pale face as he lay on his side, facing her but keeping a distance.

"Goodnight Sherlock," she said.

"So you don't want to try it?" he checked.

"The ship has sailed," she said and she felt the mattress go down as he moved closer to her, his hand suddenly on her arm;

"I think I remember saying I don't like being defied," he told her.

"I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it as long as I am here," she replied and her breathing picked up as she felt his breath come closer to her and Sherlock managed to find her hand, holding it lightly before kissing her quickly and sweetly again.

"There are some things Scarlett," he whispered as she spun onto her side, but he kept hold of her hand, "that you shall never be able to defy me...and we both know _that_ is one of them."

"Goodnight Sherlock," she whispered lowly, ignoring his previous statement.

"Goodnight Scarlett."

...

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	14. Chapter 14

Two days had passed with Scarlett being unemployed and she was going mad. Sherlock had been on a case but it had taken him the maximum of twelve hours, if not even that. When he had decided to waltz back into 221B Baker Street he began to declare how he felt that the case had been beneath him, earning a snort from Scarlett who had been sat in an armchair, watching the TV which was showing the ten o'clock news.

"I don't know why you watch that," he informed her, taking the other armchair and settling down into it, his legs crossed beneath him as he laced his fingers together and simply looked at her as she averted her gaze from the TV and onto his cool eyes.

"Because it is topical and about the things which go on in the world around us?" Scarlett rhetorically said and Sherlock rolled his eyes;

"But it doesn't particularly matter," he responded. "Which country is in debt...who is fighting to be PM...it's all irrelevant at the end of the day."

"Are you serious?" Scarlett raised a brow. It is hardly irrelevant."

"But it is-" Sherlock began to explain his theory but Scarlett raised her hand, begging for him to stop, which he did so promptly after she began to speak;

"It doesn't matter Sherlock," she told him. "I've come to learn you have your opinions and I have mine...and...I've had a buyer for my house."

"Excellent," Sherlock said. "How much?"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand," she said. "I should be able to clear my mortgage off and manage to get by for a few months here..."

"You know that London is the most expensive place to buy a home?" Sherlock told her and she yawned, standing up as she did so and switching the TV off.

"Is it really?" she asked as she walked past him;

"Hm," he agreed "where are you off?"

"For a shower and then I'm off to bed," she said and Sherlock grumbled, actively jumping from his seat and following her down the hallway;

"I hope you plan to blow dry your hair before you go to sleep," he scowled as she stood in the bathroom doorway and Sherlock remained stood in his bedroom doorway, watching her.

"I was going to put into a bun," she said. "I can't be bothered to blow dry it. And anyway, why is it your concern?"

"Because you've taken to the habit of intruding on my personal space when asleep, which means your wet hair ends up making my pillow wet and that is something which I am not too fond of," he informed her and she simply smirked, shaking her head, slowly becoming accustomed to Sherlock.

"Fine," she said. "I'll blow dry it."

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "And besides, it does smell much better when you've just blow dried it"

And with that, Sherlock turned and walked into his bedroom, shutting the door as he went, leaving Scarlett stood in the hallway, wondering what sometimes did go through his head.

...

"Thank God for that," Sherlock drawled when the noise of the hairdryer had stopped and Scarlett set it on top of his wooden drawers and looked at him;

"So you complain when I don't blow dry it and then when I do, you still complain," she said, looking at him as he flipped idly through a magazine, laid in his bed.

"One has a right to be annoyed at many things," he replied to her. "And I do apologise," Sherlock said. "I would have taken you on the case today but you were still sleeping peacefully."

"No," Scarlett said. "It was fine...I needed to start looking for another job anyway."

"Any luck?" he asked and she set her brush down on his drawers before simply shaking her head;

"You'll find something," he assured her. "There are many mundane jobs out there which are simply begging for you to do."

"My job was not mundane," Scarlett informed him. "Just because someone doesn't get shot at, doesn't mean they have a boring job."

"I'd care to disagree," Sherlock peered over the top of his magazine as he watched her settle herself at the other end of his bed, looking over at him and thinking about speaking, but she closed her mouth before she did.

"What was it?" he asked her. "And don't even bother to tell me it was nothing because you know I am not likely to fall for that."

"Do you think...that...there's any chance...if I go back to my old job...they may offer me it back?" she wondered. "I mean if I explained the circumstances as to why I didn't go in then maybe they will let me back."

"You mean, if you explain to them that some crazy consulting criminal was trying to kill you because you went on a date with a man who couldn't keep his nose out of the criminal's business and so he wants revenge on that man via you?" Sherlock asked her and she laid on her side, facing away from Sherlock and switching her light off.

"You're right," she simply said. "It sounds crazy."

"I never said not to try it," Sherlock said with a small grin.

...

"Mr High!" Scarlett called out as she rushed through the multi storey car park after being dropped off by a black cab to her old work. The middle aged man turned to look at Scarlett, briefcase in one hand and his hip on his other.

"I was just about to call you," he informed her and she sighed loudly;

"Yes Mr High," she said. "I will clear my desk...but before I do can I please tell you what happened before you make a final decision."

"Scarlett-" he tried to interject but the girl continued rambling;

"I know what I am about to say may sound completely crazy and there is even some part of me which thinks that it is mad and it hasn't completely sunk in yet, but it will do...I hope...eventually, anyway," Scarlett blathered.

"Scarlett...would you-" she interrupted him again;

"And I know I may have let you down but I promise it won't happen again. I'll be here early from now on and stay late if needs be, anything to keep my job because I do truly love it...well...everything apart from Mary because she can be a complete cow sometimes but that's not the point because I don't really speak to her and I do my work and-"

"Scarlett!" he snapped at her. "It's okay. You can have your job back."

"And I promise I will make the coffees all the time and..." She trailed off, taking in what he had said. "What?"

"I said, you can have your job back," he told her. "I know all about what happened."

"You...you do?" she blathered and he nodded;

"A Mr Holmes called me late last night...telling me off the burglary and about how you just broke down after it for a while," Mr High informed her and her eyes went wide. Sherlock? Break Down?

"Oh," Scarlett said.

"It did take a bit of persuading but I have to say your Mr Holmes is a very persuasive man," he said and she shook her head;

"He's not my Mr Holmes," she replied. "What...so that's what he told you?"

"Yes," Mr High said. "Is there something else I should know?"

"No," Scarlett said. "Nothing at all"

"Good," he said. "You start tomorrow, be here half past eight in the morning and prompt. We need you to take notes on the Corn case."

"Got it," she said. "Thank you Mr High."

"And Scarlett," he said, walking away from her. "I take a regular coffee with one sugar when you ever decide to be able to flip the switch on the kettle."

Scarlett chuckled slightly and turned to walk back out of the car park which was almost full, when she saw a man stood at the other end of the signed pavement. His hands stuffed into his grey pockets and his scarf resting against his chest. Scarlett walked over to him slowly, looking into his eyes as she did so.

"A nervous breakdown?" she asked him with a raised brow and he shrugged;

"I didn't think the entire truth would be necessary in this point of law," Sherlock smirked at her and she chuckled once at him.

"And you did this for me?" she asked him. "You got my job back?"

"Anyone could see you were unhappy without it Scarlett," he replied to her as she stood a few paces away from him. "I did what I had to."

"You didn't have to," she said and Sherlock looked away for a moment;

"But I wanted to," he said. "Your boss did take some persuading...in the end I threatened him with removing his greatest client."

"Who?" Scarlett asked and then she felt the penny drop. "Of course...your brother...his stamps are always coming into the office."

"It was an empty threat," Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and shrugged. "But he wasn't to know that."

"Thank you," Scarlett said again.

"Don't mention it," he assured her. "Now," he clapped his leather gloved hands, "seeing as how it looks like you're going to be the main worker and keeper of the flat...how about we go and attempt to have a normal...day, I should suppose."

"What do you have in mind?" she wondered.

"Well," he offered her his arm. "I thought it was customary that a second date came after a first date?"

"That is the normal thing," she said. "But being with you has never been normal," she placed her hand into his arm and they began walking down the car park and out onto the streets of London.

"I can't say it will ever be normal," he said to her. "But for this one day, I should imagine we could give it a go if that is satisfactory with you?"

"That would be more than satisfactory," the blonde smiled up to him and he too, allowed a smile to escape his lips.

...

This is by far, nowhere near the end of the story because I am enjoying writing it too much to give it up and I do hope that people are enjoying reading it, so if you could, leave me a review to let me know what you think of it so far!


	15. Chapter 15

"No," Sherlock said as he and Scarlett stood in the flat, after going out for lunch to celebrate Scarlett joining the working world, Sherlock thought it would be about time she learnt how to handle herself if trouble ever came her way again, and so that was how he found himself stood in front of the fireplace, his head resting just above her shoulder as she held her arms out in front of her, aiming at the wall where Sherlock had drawn a smiley face.

"You need to try and stop shaking," he told her, his arms moving either side of her body, his hands clasping onto hers in an attempt to make her stop shaking.

"I'm holding an object which could kill someone Sherlock...is it any wonder I am slightly shaking?" she asked him, her voice sounding slightly high;

"Is your fast heart rate," he began his question, his soft voice close to her ear. "Due to the gun...or my...ah...proximity, if you shall?"

"Definitely the gun," she smirked, allowing her head to turn around and stare into his eyes which seemed to have melted slightly as she looked at him and he smirked back at her.

"Of course Miss Jenson," he said politely, turning away to cough once, moving his hands from Scarlett as she made the gun click and he looked back as the shots suddenly flew through the air, hitting against the wall. When she had finished her third shot, he walked over to the yellow marking and frowned slightly;

"Not the best," he said to her. "But it will soon get better."

"What do you mean?" Scarlett asked, moving over to the yellow face, standing on the sofa as Sherlock stood beside it and looked up at the marking, his hand tracing over the bullet hole.

"You're miles out," he told her. "You did manage to make a nose...even though you should have been aiming for the eyes and mouth."

"It's close," Scarlett shrugged and Sherlock looked at her with pursed lips as his eyes became wide and he moved round to his sofa, grabbing onto her hips and dragging her from the material and onto the floor.

"No one," he informed her, "stands on the sofa."

"You stood on it yesterday," she pointed out and he shook his head;

"That's because it is my sofa," he informed her. "And I can do what I like on it."

"Oh can you?" Scarlett winked, moving into the kitchen and Sherlock rolled his eyes;

"I wish you'd pick your mind up off the gutter," he told her. "It really can't be an attractive quality."

"I was joking Sherlock," she said and he picked up the gun which she had left on the coffee table and he twirled it in his hands as he watched her pull out a large dish and go into the stocked freezer, pulling out minced beef and placing it into the microwave.

"Are you sure that's beef?" he asked her cockily and she looked at him, sitting on the worktop and rolling her eyes at him.

"It had best be," she said. "Unless you've been experimenting again?"

"Always a worry," he said loudly and Scarlett chuckled lowly;

"You are a worry," she informed him. "And I think you always will be."

Suddenly, she heard her phone go off and Sherlock frowned slightly, his eyes narrowed as he listened to her ringtone;

"Do you seriously have that as your ringtone?" he asked her and she picked her phone up, checking the ID and sticking her tongue out at him;

"I like them," she said and answered her phone as Sherlock continued to laugh at the fact she had 'Love Machine' as her ringtone. He recognised it from somewhere but he didn't know why, but then again, he didn't know why he knew half the things he knew most the times.

"That...Sherlock...your brother's secretary just called me," she said. "But it showed up as Jessie..."

"Is Jessie a boy or a girl?" He asked her. "As in Jesse or Jessie?"

"A girl," Scarlett clarified and Sherlock nodded, thankful for that. "That's hardly important anyway..."

"I thought it would be a girl. Jesse tends to be an Australian male's name," Sherlock informed her and Scarlett shook her head. "So what did she want?"

"She wanted to know if you were alive...well...your brother does," Scarlett said. "Why didn't he just phone you instead?"

"Oh he has done," Sherlock said. "I just choose to ignore him."

"As you do," Scarlett said sarcastically. "Why would you ignore him?"

"Because he will be after me to solve some boring case in Russia or Finland and I can't be bothered," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes whilst Scarlett raised a brow;

"I read about a case you solved in Minsk," she whispered and Sherlock grimaced at the memory;

"Ah," he said. "Yes...his grammar was terrible...he deserved to be hanged for that alone," Sherlock complained and Scarlett simply shook her head and continued pulling out jars from the cupboards which she had bought.

"So do you and John ever do any shopping?" she wondered and Sherlock simply began to brew a pot of tea.

"No," he said. "Very rare anyway...John does it sometimes...Mrs Hudson helps out as well."

"Sherlock!" Scarlett scolded him. "The woman is older than you...and I thought she was only your land lady...not your housekeeper."

"Yes," Sherlock said loudly, playing with the gun once again. "She does have the annoying habit of telling us that and then changing her mind after she speaks it."

Suddenly, Sherlock heard the banging of a door and he raised the gun and began to shoot at the kitchen wall as Scarlett shrieked out in shock and then John ran into the room;

"You did that on purpose," she whispered as she stood close to him, noticing the beef had begun to defrost and then she began to fry it in a pan, adding in a tomato sauce as Sherlock looked at her with a small grin on his lips;

"Would I do that?" he asked her and John placed his hands onto his hips as Sherlock looked at him;

"Ah John," he called out. "I didn't hear you come in."

"What? Why have you been shooting at walls again? You can't tell me you're bored...Scarlett is here to keep you entertained!"

"Not for much longer," Sherlock complained and Scarlett grinned widely and looked at John;

"They gave me my job back," she said happily and John nodded;

"Congratulations," he said. "How did you manage that?"

"Let us just say I know a man who knows a man," Sherlock said and John didn't question him, knowing there was no point in doing so. "Although why you would even want such a boring job back is beyond my powers of reasonable understanding."

"Are you staying for dinner John?" Scarlett asked him, switching the oven on as John shook his head;

"I'm going out with Sarah," he informed her and she nodded;

"Got it," she said and John checked his watch;

"I'd best go now actually...wouldn't want to be late," he said.

"No," Sherlock drawled. "Heaven forbid that you be late for such an entertaining evening of the X Factor or whatever it is you watch these evenings."

"That's on a Saturday," John informed him.

"And a Sunday," Sherlock commented and John raised a brow;

"I didn't know you had been keeping up with it," John replied and Sherlock grunted, shooting at the wall once again;

"Why did you do that?" John asked and Sherlock shrugged;

"The urge came over me," he said and John simply sighed;

"Don't wait up lovebirds," he said before leaving the two of them in the kitchen;

"Do we have wings?" Sherlock asked, following his friend to the top of the steps. "Do I sound like a bird?"

"No...but you are in love," John said, standing at the bottom of the steps and opening the door;

"Well if I was a bird," Sherlock said. "You'd be my first target."

"Goodnight Sherlock," John said and he walked out into the dark night before Sherlock went into the living room, sulking like a child and sitting on the armchair facing the kitchen. He sat in silence for a few moments before standing up to answer his mobile.

"We're going out," he said and Scarlett looked at the oven where her lasagne had begun to cook and then to Sherlock;

"But I'm cooking!" she objected and he grabbed her coat, helping her into it, ignoring her protests and turning the oven off as he guided her down the steps;

"And it shall reheat," he assured her. "The same cannot be said about the corpse we're off to see...that really is cold."

"Jesus Sherlock," Scarlett murmured.

...

"Oh God," Anderson's voice was the first to be heard as Sherlock and Scarlett walked up to him;

"No he's not here Anderson," Sherlock informed the short man. "Just me...the second best thing."

"Well I don't know what you plan to find out," Anderson said, looking back over to the crime scene where there was tape around lampposts down a dark alley where Lestrade stood and so did Donovan.

"There's always something to find," Sherlock said. "You just need to look closely...so I take it you and Donovan are over?"

"There was never anything happening," he denied.

"Of course not Anderson," Sherlock said sarcastically. "Why don't you run along back to your wife and tell her you'll be there for her and the twins?"

"What?" Anderson snapped. "Twins?"

"Of course...twins run in your family, don't they Anderson?" Sherlock checked. "Of course I imagine it would take too many brain cells for you to begin to research your family tree."

"Have you seen my family tree?" Anderson asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes, grabbing onto Scarlett's hand as Anderson's eyes opened wide at his sudden gesture.

"No," Sherlock drawled, beginning to walk forward. "I don't have that much free time on my hands."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called out as the Detective walked over to him with Scarlett following behind, her hand still in his as she saw Donovan raised a brow.

"You didn't take my advice?" she asked as Scarlett looked at her;

"Shut up," Sherlock informed Donovan, suddenly getting irritated with her.

"We all have hobbies," Scarlett shrugged. "He likes solving murders...I like to read..."

"It's not a hobby," Donovan said, walking with them to the dead body. "It's a scary obsession"

"Just like your attraction to Anderson?" Sherlock piped up and Donovan scowled as Sherlock grinned. "I'd say that's some form of scary obsession...have you met the guy?" and then Donovan walked away as Lestrade looked at him.

"Shut up," he demanded and Lestrade flapped his hands to the side;

"I didn't say anything," he said

"It's what you were thinking," Sherlock retorted.

"The body Sherlock," he indicated to the dead man and Sherlock began to look down onto the corpse, doing what he does best.

...

Please leave me a review, more action is on the way soon! Thank you to anyone reading this and to anyone who reviews, leave me your thoughts!


	16. Chapter 16

"But the question is John," Sherlock began as he paced up and down the living room, unable to control himself from the case which had occupied his mind so suddenly. "Why kill him? He was a stay at home father...never did anything which could result in murder...there was no affair...no debt...he looked after his child all the time. There had to be something."

"Maybe," John shrugged. "But by the looks of it you're after someone with a steady hand, did you see the wounds in his neck? No one shaking could have done that."

"That's true. Even in a crime of passion there would have been some shaking involved," Sherlock agreed for once.

"Oh!" Sherlock suddenly said as he heard the door slam downstairs and then footsteps approached.

"That's brilliant!" he cried out, jumping onto his coffee table and then down onto the floor as Scarlett walked into the living room, throwing her bag down and placing her keys on the coffee table which Sherlock had just stood on before removing her heels and coat, just watching as Sherlock muttered under his breath so that no one could hear him before he shouted;

"We need to go the museum!"

"What?" John stammered. "Why on earth would we need to go there?"

"Every day I count myself lucky I don't have your brain John," Sherlock insulted his friend who just remained silent, knowing that talking back to Sherlock wouldn't do anyone any good and if he had to be frank, he could be particularly bothered to do it anyway.

"Do you plan on telling me why we need to go there or not?" John wondered as Sherlock watched Scarlett moved into the kitchen and then down the hallway, slowly, he stood in the doorway and watched her wonder off down the corridor, ignoring John's questions;

"Where are you going?" he asked her. "You come in without saying a word and now you wander off."

"I didn't want to interrupt your flow!" She yelled from the bedroom. "And I'm having dinner tonight, with a friend."

"What friend?" Sherlock asked, moving to his room where he saw her stood, the door wide open and her hands searching through the wardrobe which she shared with Sherlock, even though she took up more space than him, which he had initially complained about but then she reminded him who was currently paying most the rent. To which he responded by calling her 'insufferable' and that she should 'keep her theories to herself'.

"James." Scarlett said, picking out her maxi dress and dropping it onto the bed whilst Sherlock simply raised a brow;

"A male?" he asked her.

"I don't know many females called James, do you?" Scarlett grinned and Sherlock scolded himself for asking her such a daft question but he remained calm, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway.

"You've never mentioned him before," Sherlock informed her and she began to go into her jewellery box, looking through her items.

"Haven't I?" She asked him and he shook his head. "We haven't known each other too long anyway, he's a new solicitor and quite nice..."

"Oh I can imagine," Sherlock drawled dryly.

"Anyway, he offered to take me for dinner as friends and I said yes...considering you and John have been busy on this case for a while," Scarlett waved a hand, resting down the jewellery on her dress and observing it from a distance whilst Sherlock remained quiet until he heard John from behind him;

"So why are we going to the museum?" he asked and Sherlock huffed as John handed him his coat and he placed it on.

"He made a donation to a painting," Sherlock said. "I think he found out the painting was stolen."

"How did you even deduce that?" John asked but Sherlock continued to watch Scarlett as she brushed her hair in the mirror.

"I see through everything John," Sherlock snapped. "How do you not know that by now?"

"Okay then." John picked up on Sherlock's awful attitude and he stepped back down the corridor as Sherlock stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked at Scarlett who was then playing with her golden curls.

"Do I even consider waiting up for you?" Sherlock asked her and she shrugged;

"I'm not fussed," she said. "I'm only going out for a meal with a friend Sherlock...no clubbing or anything like that."

"Oh that's a relief to know," he said. "At least I don't have to worry about getting a call at one in the morning to come and fetch you because you've managed to get yourself into some drunken brawl."

"What has gotten into you?" Scarlett asked, turning around and placing a hand onto her hip.

"Nothing," he said quickly back. "Anyway, I shall leave you to it...some of us have killers to catch."

"Okay then," she agreed. "See you later."

"Maybe," Sherlock murmured and left her to change.

...

"You've been in a foul mood all night," John commented as he and Sherlock walked the paths of London, Sherlock peering around into restaurants and shops.

"Am I normally in a pleasant mood?" Sherlock wondered, looking down at the smaller man who shook his head;

"Well no," he mused. "But you're even worse than normal tonight."

"Humph," Sherlock grunted and finally he spotted her. She was sat on a chair opposite a tall blonde man, pulling her dress up and laughing as she did so. She held an orange juice in her hand as she laughed at the man and Sherlock stopped and watched. John drew to a halt beside his friend and looked onto the scene.

"Ah." He said. "That's why you wanted to walk."

"I wanted fresh air," Sherlock counteracted.

"To see her with him," John ignored his protests. "How did you even know she was eating here?"

"I looked into her schedule in her Blackberry," Sherlock whispered as he watched her laugh again and John shook his head;

"You followed her because you're jealous," he said and Sherlock scoffed and continued walking.

"I am not jealous," he said. "Why would I be jealous?"

"Because you truly want her to yourself," John replied. "Sherlock Holmes, jealous of another man."

"Don't make me push you into the road," Sherlock spoke through gritted teeth whilst John chuckled.

...

Please review! Thank you to everyone who is reading this!


	17. Chapter 17

"Hey," Scarlett said when she walked back into 221B Baker Street and saw John sat on an armchair and watching the TV, a cup of tea in his hand as he turned his head one ninety degrees to look at the blonde who had just walked in and was depositing her bag and keys onto the coffee table as she ran her hand through her blonde hair and pushed it from her face.

"Oh hey," John said. "Good night out?"

"It wasn't bad," Scarlett smiled at him. "Completely stuffed mind you...I like trying to look good but I am afraid I love dessert more, it has to be said."

"Agreed." John chuckled. "Can't say no to a good bit of dessert."

"So," Scarlett said, sitting on the armchair opposite John's and looking at the man. "Where's Sherlock?"

"Sherlock is in bed," John said, looking at his watch. "He went about an hour ago."

"Oh." Scarlett said. "Well...I'm going to turn in for the night anyway," and she stood back up quickly and began to walk off, but before she could move down the corridor John called out to her as she stepped into the kitchen;

"He was jealous," John said and Scarlett turned around and looked at John, her mouth parted slightly, wondering what to say in response to that;

"What?" she managed to muster together one coherent word.

"He was jealous that you were going out with someone else...he's been in a foul mood all night even though we solved the case," John informed her.

"That could just be because he didn't find the case challenging enough," Scarlett shrugged it off but John simply shook his head;

"I've never seen him like that before Scarlett," he assured her. "He was definitely jealous...just...be careful with him, okay?"

"Okay," Scarlett whispered, not knowing what else to say and so she took off for the bedroom after a simple nod from John. Slowly, she creaked the door open and saw the room was bathed in darkness, only managing to make out the sign of a lump under the bed. Silently, she tip toed into the dark room and sat on her edge of the bed, removing her heels and simply ditching them on the floor before stretching for her pyjamas at the end of the bed and looking at Sherlock who was breathing lightly, facing away from her and curled into a ball. Deciding she couldn't be bothered to move into the bathroom to change, she began to remove her dress, hastily placing her pyjamas on as she did so and allowing the long material to fall to the floor before climbing into bed, looking at Sherlock before closing her eyes.

"I take it you had a good night?" his deep voice suddenly spoke out into the dark room and Scarlett jumped slightly at his sudden movement, turning his bedside light on and sitting up, his brow raised in expectation.

"I didn't know you were awake," Scarlett murmured, still resting on her side, not looking at him.

"I was just awaiting the call that I had to come and drag you off the floor of some nightclub," Sherlock drawled, his voice laid with bitterness in it. "But it seems that for once you have managed to exceed my expectations."

"What is your bloody problem?" Scarlett snapped, suddenly sitting up, looking over to him and raising her brow. Her face looked like thunder and her eyes were narrowed at Sherlock.

"I have no problem," Sherlock shrugged. "I just wondered what may happen to you."

"Well why did you have to go and assume I would be out getting drunk? I did it one time Sherlock! Just drop it," she snapped at him and he rolled his eyes;

"Fine," he grumbled. "Anyway, you didn't answer my question."

"Yes," she said curtly. "I had a good night."

"Was it the food or the company which made it enjoyable?" he wondered.

"Both," she admitted and Sherlock huffed;

"Hmm," he managed to say. "That's good then."

"Yes," Scarlett said. "It is...we're going out again next week too."

"Oh really?" Sherlock wondered. "Well I'm glad you've found a friend."

"He's nice," Scarlett shrugged. "Is that a crime?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I never said it was, did I?"

"Okay," Scarlett sighed "what is it?"

"What's what?" he wondered, feigning innocence, his eyes wide as he watched her bite her lip.

"Got you into this type of mood?" she quizzed. Was John right? Was Sherlock really that jealous?

"Nothing," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," Scarlett whispered, looking down from his eye contact. "Were you...well...you know..."

"What?" he asked her. "Because your garbling doesn't help me to understand what you're on about."

"John said you were jealous," she blurted out and then the two of them went quiet for a few moments before Sherlock simply rolled his eyes;

"Why would I be jealous?" he asked her.

"Well...I don't know...John said..." Scarlett mumbled and Sherlock simply just snorted;

"Well if John said it then it has to be right, doesn't it?" Sherlock said ironically.

"No need to be sarcastic," Scarlett replied to him. "He just thought wrong, obviously."

"Obviously," Sherlock replied quickly. "Because I was not jealous of the fact that someone else was inflicted with your company for the evening. And I wouldn't be jealous of him for the obvious reason that I am probably far more superior."

"Inflicting my company?" Scarlett snapped at him. "What is that supposed to mean? People don't like my company?"

"Well..." Sherlock began to mutter, wondering how he was supposed to get himself out of the hole which he had just dug himself into.

"Goodnight Sherlock" Scarlett huffed and lay on her side, facing away from him. Sherlock looked down at her and then did the same. He could hear the gritting of teeth coming from her and he simply just looked at his wall, which was until he felt the covers from him slowly move off his body. Turning his head, he saw that Scarlett had dragged the thick duvet onto her side of the bed, leaving Sherlock with nothing but the thin sheets. Scarlett knew she had taken the covers from him and she hoped that would show she was mad at him. She knew it probably looked completely childish but she was in a mood with Sherlock. Slowly, Sherlock turned his head and looked at her, then he outstretched his hands and in one swift movement he yanked the covers from her so that he now had more.

"Do you mind?" she snapped at him.

"Do you?" he replied to her.

"Yes," she said and he turned to look at her, a sarcastic smile on his face as he whispered;

"Shame," like she had done to him a few days ago.

"Uh...you're such...a pompous arse," she snapped and stood up from the bed, picking up her cushions and stuffing them under her arms as she stood and looked at Sherlock who was laid on his back and smiling lightly at her;

"I take that as a compliment," he replied, unable to hold his tongue.

"It's not," Scarlett informed him and reached down onto the bed and pulled the duvet from him, throwing it into her arms where she then began to walk out the bedroom, Sherlock sitting up and watching her;

"Where are you going?"

"I can't sleep in the same bed with you when you're being childish," she replied

"You started it!" he pointed out as she slammed the bedroom door shut and moved into the living room. What did she want him to say? That he was jealous of her going for a meal with this James chap? Well she would have a long wait for him to admit it.

...

"So," John began as he sat with Sherlock in a cafe. "Scarlett went out early this morning."

"Did she?" Sherlock drawled. "I didn't hear her go."

"Yes," John nodded. "To do the food shopping...but I saw her sleeping on the sofa."

"She slept on _my _sofa after taking _my_ duvet?" Sherlock spat. "Why did I invite her to live with us again?"

"Because you fancy her?" John asked and Sherlock snorted.

"Anyway," John continued. "Why was she on the sofa? Did you have an argument?"

"Not so much," Sherlock lied. "She just didn't like the fact I wasn't jealous she was out with someone else."

"But you were jealous," John stated. "I was there...I saw..."

"I was not jealous!" Sherlock snapped loudly, slamming his fist onto the table and John sat back;

"Okay," he surrendered. "So what exactly happened?"

"I told her I didn't care if she was inflicting her company onto someone who was probably not as intelligent as me so I should not be jealous of anything," Sherlock shrugged and John simply rested his forehead into his hand and shook his head;

"You said inflicted her company? And you insulted a friend?" John checked. "I can see why she may have been slightly mad with you."

"I don't know why," Sherlock replied. "It's almost like she wants me to be jealous."

"Maybe she does," John shrugged. "Maybe she wants to know that she means something to you? Maybe she wants to hear you ask if James means anything to her to know you care?"

"Why can't she just get that from me saying that I wasn't jealous? And she should know she means something to me John," Sherlock frowned. "I let her come to live with us for goodness sakes!"

"It doesn't hurt to say it to her Sherlock," John replied. "Just tell her that you care about her and don't want to fight."

"I'm not going to be the one who makes the first move," Sherlock sulked.

"What is she to you Sherlock?" John asked him and Sherlock raised an eyebrow;

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"I mean," John stated. "That if you keep on bottling up how you feel then you may lose her...she may find someone who treats her better...and then you may not get her back."

"You've been watching far too many episodes of Pride and Prejudice or whatever those shows are John," Sherlock said. "She can see I treat her well...I managed to give her that boring job back...take her for meals."

"Not just monetary issues Sherlock," John said and Sherlock rolled his eyes;

"If she's after someone who will declare their adoration for her every day then she is barking up the wrong tree", Sherlock informed John.

"Not every day Sherlock," John retorted. "God knows that would kill you."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you John," Sherlock replied.

"Just," John raised his hands, "tell her you're sorry"

...

Sherlock moved back up the steps of the flat to loud music which was blatantly coming from his living room. He slowly moved up the steps and then stood in the doorway, trying to refrain himself from breaking out into full blown laughter as he looked at her. His flatmate was in the living room, a bottle of polish in one hand and a duster in another as she danced along to some music which was coming from her IPod docking station. Suddenly, she placed the polish closer to her mouth, like a microphone and began to sing about wanting a White TT and someone have a Black BM. Sherlock couldn't hold his laughter any longer and he simply coughed, folding one arm over his midriff and the other covered his mouth slightly as he saw her turn around, going bright red as she looked at him.

"I never knew cleaning could be so entertaining," he informed her and she rolled her eyes, turning her music down and then setting herself onto her knees and dusting the coffee table as Sherlock removed his coat and scarf.

"Really?" she asked him.

"Hm." He agreed. "On the other hand," he mused, sitting on the sofa and unbuttoning one of his purple shirts top buttons, "you do have some excellent rhythm."

"Are you trying to insult me?" Scarlett snapped, tying her hair into a bobble and looking at him as he shook his head;

"No." Sherlock replied. "And I am being honest for once."

"Humph," she grunted. "Where have you been this morning?"

"Ah," Sherlock said, ignoring her question. "You're still in a mood with me."

"Did my curt tone and glaring stares tell you that, oh wise one?" she asked.

"Now you're just being rude."

"Are you serious?" she snapped, slamming her duster onto the coffee table and standing up to look at him. "Rude? Like you last night?"

"I don't know what you want me to say," Sherlock simply shrugged. "I was being honest that he probably wasn't that amazing."

"You were being rude Sherlock," she counteracted. "I don't care if you weren't jealous...I don't care if you don't care that I'm sleeping with him...I just don't want you to talk about me like no one likes to spend time with me and that I am irresponsible and only go and get drunk!"

"So are you sleeping with him?" Sherlock wondered.

"No!" she snapped "I'm not and I won't."

"Why not?" Sherlock wondered and Scarlett shook her head;

"Because I don't feel like that for him Sherlock...he's just a friend...I thought..."

"What?" Sherlock wondered. "What did you think?"

"I thought that maybe we were some form of dysfunctional item Sherlock...and that's why I wouldn't even think about touching James," Scarlett said. "Because he's not you Sherlock."

"Many would think that to be a good thing," Sherlock said, leaning back and folding his legs.

"Sherlock," she sighed. "Are we going anywhere? I mean really?"

But Sherlock remained silent, unable to say anything to her. He saw her shake her head once, a small tear falling from her eyes and the next thing he heard was the door to 221 B Baker Street slam shut. Was they going anywhere? Did he want them to go anywhere? Maybe. It just scared him.

...

I cannot begin to say thank you to all the people who added my story to their favourite list and suscibed to it! The reveiws which I have recieved for the story yesterday were so nice and I thank all of you that reviewed and I am so glad that you're enjoying the story. There is of course more to come, for example, Sherlock finally meets James, so that should be an interesting reaction! ha! And then there is Moriarty who is still on the lose! So please do review!


	18. Chapter 18

"So what did you manage to do this time?" John asked when he walked into the flat as soon as he had seen Scarlett walking down Baker Street. The blonde had blatantly pushed past him and he could tell she was annoyed as a hand was placed under her nose and she was sniffing loudly as she ignored his calls for concern.

"What?" Sherlock snapped at John. "I could swear that girl is completely crazy anyway!"

"Oh God," John complained. "I can sense this is the moment when I put the kettle on."

"Well a cup of tea wouldn't go amiss," Sherlock said through gritted teeth. "Even though I would be impartial to an actual stiff drink."

"What happened to Sherlock Holmes?" John wondered as he stood in the kitchen and Sherlock laid on his sofa;

"Scarlett bloody Jenson," Sherlock muttered. "That's what happened to Sherlock Holmes."

"So go on," John urged his friend when he sat down on the armchair, dragging it to face Sherlock's sofa. "What did you say to her?"

"I said nothing," Sherlock defended his actions, sitting up and drinking the hot liquid quickly and then making an 'ah' noise. "I come back, with the full intention to clear the air, find she's still in a mood with me and she then acts completely unreasonable...telling me how she doesn't feel anything stronger than friendship for this James person."

"That's good then," John interjected. "At least now you know that she doesn't fancy him."

"I didn't care if she did or not," Sherlock set his cup down and folded his arms quickly. "Who she fancies is not something I can control."

"You know," John said. "When it comes to social issues you are completely and utterly stupid. The girl fancies you! She likes you Sherlock...and I know you like her back...why don't you just tell her? And that still doesn't explain why she ran out of here in tears."

"Because I didn't answer her question," Sherlock muttered.

"Which was?" John urged him.

"She wanted to know what we were...she thought we were some form...well...some form of item," Sherlock struggled to say it on his lips.

"And then you acting like you don't care if she goes out with this James bloke just makes her wonder if you are a couple...if you don't want to be with her..." John mused and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes;

"Why the hell does she have to make this so difficult? It isn't like I have said anything to her to make her think that I don't like her! I even kissed the bloody girl!" Sherlock stood up and began pacing up and down the living room and John's eyes went wide.

"You?" he stammered. "You mean...you...kissed her...you?"

"Yes," Sherlock muttered. "Why is that so hard to understand? Do people not understand that I am a male? Do I not have permission to be attracted to someone just because I'm some form of sociopath?"

"No," John said quickly. "It's fine...good...but the question is...what do you want to be to her?"

"Hell," Sherlock spoke in frustration. "I don't know..."

"Because the only logical thing for you to keep her from not going off to another man is to well...ask her...you know..." John murmured and Sherlock stopped his pacing, looking at the doctor, his eyes wide;

"Marry me?" Sherlock said and John began to shake his head quickly;

"No Sherlock," he said. "I doubt she'd even say yes at this moment in time anyway. I meant that you should ask her to go steady with you..."

"Why can't she just live with what we have?" Sherlock asked. "Why can't she just be happy to leave it how it is?"

"Because the girl doesn't want a life like that Sherlock...she wants something to happen..."

"Does my opinion not count?" Sherlock wondered and John shrugged;

"Just don't lose her over something so trivial as you not being able to put your pride aside," John warned him.

...

Sherlock stood in the living room at ten in the evening that Saturday, his Blackberry had constantly been attached to his hand as he called Scarlett's number over and over again, until the point had come where he had worn out a patch of the carpet due to his pacing and gone through seven nicotine patches. All he kept getting was her voicemail. And he had left tonnes of messages, saying he was sorry for his behaviour to her and they needed to talk urgently. He had come to realise that although he didn't know if he could handle a relationship with her, he still wanted her.

"What if he's got to her?" Sherlock worried, but before John even had a chance to answer Sherlock answered his own question. "No...Moriarty would have let me know...he can't have done," and then he began to call her again;

"Scarlett," he said into her voicemail. "Could you for once, just listen to me and come back to the flat. We need to talk...I'm sorry again."

"I don't think I've ever heard you apologise so much," John muttered and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John;

"Now is not the time for your smart arse comments...and don't even think about blogging any of this," Sherlock pointed a finger at him in warning.

"I wasn't," John replied, flipping through TV channels.

"Scarlett," Sherlock suddenly whispered, standing next to the window where he managed to peer onto the street and he saw a young woman tumble from the cab, but behind her there was a man. Sherlock watched on as she stumbled around on heels. She had changed from earlier, but Sherlock didn't recognise where she had gotten the purple dress from as it had never been in his wardrobe. Clearly she had been shopping. Sherlock placed his phone into his pocket as he saw her laughing loudly, her hands gripping onto his arms as he bent over and laughed with her too. She then raised a hand before searching for her keys to unlock the door, and that was when the man made his move. Sherlock watched as he placed his hands onto her waist, holding her firmly whilst she shook her head at something he was saying and tried to push him away. Sherlock took no time in reacting and he quickly ran down to the steps, running down them as fast as possible, flinging the door open.

"No," Scarlett complained. "James...I don't want to..."

"I know you want me Scarlett," he slurred as Sherlock stepped onto the street.

"And what," he drawled. "Is going on here?" he asked as he pulled Scarlett from James' grasp, his own arm wrapping her protectively beside him as she rested a hand onto his stomach to steady herself as he continued glaring at James.

"Sherlock," he heard Scarlett whisper. "I...don't...well..."

"She wants me," James stated and Sherlock rolled his eyes, noticing the boy was completely out of it with intoxication.

"I think you should just go home," Sherlock said. "She doesn't want you...and you're drunk...so go home."

"Not without Scarlett," James demanded, moving forward, his arm grasping onto Scarlett and pulling her to him, but Sherlock wasn't letting her go off and he grasped onto her arm and placed her behind his body, standing basically chest to chest with James.

"Get out my way," James demanded.

"Not a chance," Sherlock said threateningly.

"James," Scarlett said. "Just go home...it's been a misunderstanding," she had begun to sober up whilst Sherlock still continued glaring at James.

"Fine," James raised his hands in surrender, and began to turn around, but before Sherlock could move, the young solicitor raised his hand and made a fist, flinging it at Sherlock who managed to get hit on the cheek.

"Sherlock!" Scarlett cried, grabbing onto the consulting detective as he doubled over, grasping onto his cheek. Sherlock shook her off and stood tall, looking at James before he himself flung his own fist at the man, causing him to step back, the look in his eyes showing hatred.

"You really want to go?" James snapped and Sherlock stood tall again;

"I don't think you could handle it," Sherlock said. "Now just go home."

"Don't even think about walking away from me," James said, grabbing Sherlock's arm and pushing him slightly before moving forward to him. Both men grabbed onto each other's shoulders and began tousling in the street whilst Scarlett complained at them. Sherlock managed to awkwardly kick James, throwing himself off balance in the midst of it. But before James could even think of doing anything, Scarlett took her move, breaking them up and grabbing onto James' shoulders, raising her knee until she made harsh contact with his crotch and he bent over, falling onto the pavement before hailing a cab which was coming down.

"You asked for that James," she said slowly and deadly as she hauled him into the cab with Sherlock's help.

"Thanks," she said, looking at Sherlock once she had sent the cab on its way and Sherlock just shrugged;

"It was the least I could do," he said and then coughed. "But you seemed to have it under control anyway."

"I don't know," Scarlett said. "He was beginning to creep me out."

"Seems a creepy bloke," Sherlock said. "Anyway...we should probably go in...standing out here too long could attract stares and wondering minds...mainly from Mrs Hudson."

The two of them moved into the flat, walking back up to the living room where John entered;

"Where did you go? And Scarlett...you're back," he said and Sherlock shook his head whilst Scarlett nodded and grabbed an ice pack from the fridge, placing it into a tea towel before she walked back over to Sherlock who was sat on his sofa. She sat beside him and rested the ice pack onto his puffy cheek.

"Can you leave us John?" Sherlock asked and John shook his head;

"Don't you plan to answer my question?" John asked.

"Not tonight John," Sherlock replied.

Once John had left, Scarlett and Sherlock remained seated in silence for a few moments. Neither one of them knowing what to say to each other.

"I tried calling you," Sherlock informed Scarlett.

"My phone was in my bag...I...bumped into James during shopping in River Island...and he asked if I wanted to get a drink," Scarlett said. "I didn't want to come back...but I knew I should."

"I was getting worried Scarlett," Sherlock informed her. "I didn't know if Moriarty had gotten to you or not."

"I didn't think about him," Scarlett bit her lip. "I was just...so annoyed with you...and I..."

"You don't need to explain. I realised I may not have been the most...well...compassionate person to speak with," Sherlock said. "And I apologise for the things which I said to you."

Scarlett remained silent. Holding the ice pack onto his cheek, she pressed on it some more and he winced slightly;

"Sorry," she said.

"It's fine," he replied. "And as for the question which you asked me earlier...well...if I am to be deadly honest with you then I don't know what I want for us at this moment in time. I care for you Scarlett and I do like you. I realise I may not have said that enough to make you believe it and I understand it may appear I take you for granted."

"No...I knew when I first met you that you...well...that you're brash," Scarlett said. "But I still like you Sherlock...and I want you to know...that...well...if you're not ready...for a relationship of any kind...then I'll wait."

"I'm married to my work Scarlett," he said dangerously. "But...I have also found that I have time for you."

"I get that," Scarlett replied.

"And a relationship is not something I am familiar with...but if it allows me to continue with my work at the same degree of excellence then it is something I could consider...possibly...but you need to know that my work is important Scarlett. It is as important as you...you may edge past it slightly...but I need cases to keep me sane."

"I know Sherlock," Scarlett sighed. "I know."

"Anyway," Sherlock shook off their awkward conversation, "did he hurt you?"

"No," she said quickly." No...I'm fine...thanks to you anyway."

"I thought you managed to deal with the situation rather well," he complimented her, his face moving closer to hers. "And as soon as you got out of the cab with him I could tell that he was certainly not your type."

"Oh yes?" Scarlett asked, finding herself lost in his eyes again. "How did you know that?"

"Because he wasn't me," Sherlock said cockily and Scarlett snorted;

"You're completely full of your own self importance," she told him.

"Aren't I just?" he took her wrist and lowered her hand from his face along with the icepack. "There was another thing as well."

"Hmm?" she wondered.

"You're far too good for him," and then Sherlock Holmes once again kissed Scarlett.


	19. Chapter 19

"No," Sherlock said curtly. "You are not forcing me to go."

"Oh please, please, please," Scarlett clasped her hands together as she stopped stirring the pasta for a moment and looked at Sherlock who was playing on John's laptop after Scarlett had forbidden Sherlock from using hers when she found that he had changed her password to her email account, saying he had done it for an experiment.

"No Scarlett," Sherlock said. "It is such a typical thing to do and completely and utterly boring."

"But it looks amazing!" Scarlett told him. "And the next screening isn't until half past nine."

"It looks boring," Sherlock said. "I did notice the trailer on TV and it looked completely and utterly predictable. Yes, the good guy will eventually win the girl from the bad guy and then they will all live happily ever after. It happens in every single movie."

"Fine," Scarlett snapped at Sherlock. "I'll ask John to go with me."

"Ask John what?" Dr Watson suddenly appeared at the doorway after being sat in the living room and reading through a book which Scarlett had lent him. Sherlock looked at his friend and then back onto the laptop.

"Is that my laptop?" he asked Sherlock.

"What else am I supposed to do to keep myself entertained?" Sherlock asked. "We finished the case so I'm in search of another one...but nothing seems to be coming up."

"You could come and watch the film with me at the cinema," Scarlett grumbled and finally dished up the pasta and placed the sauce over it, handing plates to Sherlock and John. Scarlett took a seat at the dining table as did John and Sherlock finally managed to place the laptop down and onto the worktop.

"I could come and risk falling asleep which could lead to possible stares from people around us and the further embarrassment of you," Sherlock said, twirling the pasta onto his fork and placing it into his mouth whilst Scarlett simply shook her head and stabbed her pasta.

"John," she turned to the other man. "Would you please accompany me to the cinema tonight as Sherlock is being a complete and utter spoilsport?"

"Don't see why not," John shrugged. "I'm in need of a decent laugh."

"Or a decent reason to commit suicide," Sherlock replied and he suddenly heard his phone vibrate and he answered it quickly, his eyes lighting up as he heard Lestrade begging for his help on an interesting murder which appeared to be suicide.

"I'm on the way," he said and stood up.

"Come on John...we have to go," he said and Scarlett simply remained tight lipped. His job came first. She knew that. No matter how annoyed she may get at it coming first during dinner.

"Sorry," John said to Scarlett and she shrugged and smiled at him;

"Don't worry about it," she waved off and he went to fetch his coat. Sherlock walked back into the kitchen with his coat on and his scarf, slowly slipping his hands into his leather gloves as he looked at Scarlett who was simply looking at her pasta.

"I hate to say this," he began in a drawl, "but you are much more attractive when you have a smile on your face. They also say that smiling uses less muscles and so I think that in conclusion you should definitely smile some more."

"You know," Scarlett said. "You have the weirdest ways of complimenting people."

"Ah," Sherlock grinned. "But we have established I do compliment you."

"Just go and help Lestrade Sherlock," Scarlett told him, allowing a small smile to play on her lips as Sherlock smiled wider and nodded his head at her;

"Much better," and then he took off.

...

"I don't think it was her Mrs Hudson," Scarlett said as she and the elder woman sat in Sherlock's living room, staring at the TV which showed a murder mystery on the TV.

"Oh," Mrs Hudson said. "The man on the right does look guilty though dear...oh if Sherlock was here he would have solved this before the opening credits."

"That's why I don't watch them when he's about...he just ruins it within the first ten minutes and then he sits there and complains about being bored," Scarlett informed the older woman, moving her arms to go around her knees and resting her chin onto her arm as she continued looking at the TV. Mrs Hudson sat in the other armchair and she looked at Scarlett and sighed;

"So," she began. "I keep wondering to myself if there truly is anything going on between you and Sherlock...I know he can sometimes be an annoying young man and also has strange hobbies but I can't figure out what is happening with you two."

"Your guess is as good as mine Mrs Hudson," Sherlock sighed. "If not slightly better."

"You mean you don't know how he feels towards you?" Mrs Hudson asked. "Because I was just wondering if you could tell me if he and John well...you know dear..."

"Him and John?" Scarlett asked and Mrs Hudson nodded whilst Scarlett remained quiet for a moment and then gasped loudly;

"You thought they were gay?" she asked in shock and Mrs Hudson nodded;

"So they're not?" She asked. "I just wondered if Sherlock didn't have a preference...that was all."

"No," Scarlett said. "No...he's not gay...I don't think he likes both genders anyway."

"So you and Sherlock? There is something?" Mrs Hudson asked and Scarlett nodded;

"I think there is," she shrugged. "He says he likes me."

"But you're not courting?" Mrs Hudson asked and Scarlett shook her head, she couldn't help but think how traditional that sounded and she also couldn't help but think that she liked the sound of what Mrs Hudson had said.

"No," Scarlett said. "We're not"

But before the elder woman could even ask any more questions, there was a sudden blast sound. Her and Mrs Hudson jumped up from their seats and ran over to the window and looked onto Baker Street and as they did so they saw a blacked out car, the window slowly rolling down as the car drove slowly.

"Mrs Hudson!" Scarlett shouted. "Get down!" She pushed the woman down onto the floor, before falling to it herself, as the sound of gunshots came through the glass, shattering it everywhere. Scarlett screamed loudly as she felt the shards tumble into her and small ornaments in the flat began to break and fall around the women. The shooting seemed to go on for ages, but when it eventually stopped, Scarlett saw black.

...

"Where is she?" Sherlock demanded as he jumped out a black cab on Baker Street seeing police cars and ambulances scattered around. John followed his friend as he ducked under the blue tape and into the chaos and mayhem, seeing Mrs Hudson giving a statement and then finally seeing Scarlett who was sat on the step of an ambulance, shivering in the cold, wearing nothing but a thin blanket.

"Scarlett," Sherlock gasped her name as he approached her and removed his grey coat, taking of her blanket and replacing it with his thick coat as he stood in front of her and ran his hands up and down her arms, causing friction to warm her.

"Are you okay?" he asked her and she nodded;

"I'm fine," she said and Sherlock allowed a slender finger to trace the stitches which were on her forehead and she winced;

"Come on," Sherlock said, taking her hand and pulling her up. "We'll get you somewhere warmer."

...

Mrs Hudson allowed Sherlock, John and Scarlett to kip in her living room that night. John took a mattress to the floor and Sherlock remained sat with Scarlett on the sofa. He had to admit that he was stiff, as she sat herself in his lap and rested her head onto his shoulder, but Sherlock didn't push her away, instead he allowed to stay with him, realising she was probably in shock and was in need of comfort. Comfort which only he could offer apparently. He had given her his jacket to wear as she seemed to be in shock.

"Are you okay?" he whispered as she remained quiet and looked tired.

"I don't know," Scarlett whispered. "Do you think it's Moriarty?"

"I am not entirely sure," Sherlock replied. "But the murderer was the old man in the programme you and Mrs Hudson were watching," he distracted her and she managed to look up at him;

"How did you know we were watching that?"

"I saw you looking at it intently in the TV guide and I read the brief on it, it seemed completely obvious that it would be the old man," he told her and she rolled her eyes and yawned;

"Go to sleep," he urged her.

"You want me to move off?" she asked, looking at John who was on the floor sleeping.

"No," Sherlock said "Not if you don't want to."

And so she didn't.


	20. Chapter 20

Sherlock couldn't even think about gaining sleep that night. It wasn't down to the fact that the young blonde was tossing and turning as she had her body nestled against him, in fact, he barely even noticed her doing that. What got to him was why she had been shot at. Did whoever do it want Sherlock instead? Or was it truly Moriarty? Back again and after revenge...but Sherlock didn't think Moriarty would return that soon. He was a patient man and Sherlock knew that. Revenge was a dish best served cold.

"Sherlock." He heard Scarlett suddenly whisper, snapping him out of the daze he had currently been in. He looked down onto her but saw that her eyes were still shut and she was gently murmuring something else. He felt her arms move around his body, pulling herself closer to him and he once again allowed himself to turn stiff, before moving his arm to go around her waist, the other resting on her lap as he yawned. Finally, Sherlock felt his lids drop and he wondered if it would be best to let sleep overtake him.

...

"Are you three still asleep?" a shrill voice came and Sherlock was the first one to open his eyes, peering over at the old woman who had begun to open the curtains to her own flat.

"Clearly we were Mrs Hudson," Sherlock replied. "But obviously not now considering you just woke us up."

"Well it is ten in the morning Sherlock," Mrs Hudson replied and she saw John begin to yawn loudly and then he sat up from the mattress, looking around the room and rubbing his eyes, noticing the sight of Sherlock and Scarlett and he grinned slightly, causing Sherlock to glare at him;

"Shut up," he warned him and John chuckled.

"So what do you think last night was about Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked, beginning to potter around in her flat whilst Sherlock allowed his hand to gently grab Scarlett's arm, squeezing it and trying to wake her up.

"No idea Mrs Hudson," Sherlock lied to the elder woman.

"Well whatever it was," she warned him, "you're paying for the repairs." And she then walked back off into the kitchen as Sherlock rolled his eyes at the woman's back and then went back to his waking up of Scarlett.

"Scarlett," he tried not to get impatient with the girl as she shifted around on his lap again. "Scarlett...you need to wake up..."

"Hmm?" she muttered, her eyes still closed but Sherlock could tell she was awake as she allowed her head to rest onto his chest and John chuckled, resulting in Sherlock outstretching his leg and managing to kick the man gently as he sat on the mattress.

"Ow," John complained.

"Serves you right," Sherlock replied.

"What time is it?" Scarlett yawned loudly and Sherlock checked his watch which was at the end of his arm;

"Ten past ten," he informed her and she opened her eyes, sitting up and sliding herself from Sherlock who couldn't help but feel a little relieved as he could now feel the blood circulating in his legs. She removed his jacket from her shoulders and handed it back to him, he took it and placed it onto his own body before standing up and beginning to pace up and down Mrs Hudson's living room.

"Now," Sherlock began. "The question is Scarlett," he looked at the girl, "did you notice anything about the car last night? Did you see anything whatsoever?"

"Me?" Scarlett squeaked. "I don't know...Mrs Hudson and I were just watching the TV...then there was this loud bang I think...the next thing I know is that after looking out the window there is a car driving past and then we're being shot at."

"What did the car look like?" he asked her.

"It was blacked out...it was black and big...I don't know Sherlock. I was more disturbed at the fact there was the end of a gun sticking out of the window," she replied and Sherlock sighed. No point in asking her if she knew the registration plate by the sounds of it.

"Clearly there isn't much to go on then," Sherlock simply shrugged and John stood up, stretching as he did so.

"What? What do you mean there isn't much to go on?" John asked. "We always have something to go on."

"Not now John," he snapped. "What am I supposed to do? The car has clearly vanished and we have no idea who it could have been."

"Yes we do," John said and Sherlock simply shook his head.

"He can't be back this quick...he said he would wait...and it hasn't even been a month. Moriarty wouldn't rush a job which he wants to be done properly; it isn't in his nature one little bit."

"But it is something which he would have done," Scarlett piped up, curling into a ball on Mrs Hudson's sofa, running a hand through her blonde hair.

"But it is too soon," Sherlock exclaimed, jumping up and down once and then running his hands through his black curly hair and shaking his head;

"We don't know who they were trying to shoot at...they could have been after me...probably not John...he wouldn't say boo to a goose," Sherlock mused. "How many people have I annoyed recently who would want me dead, apart from Moriarty that is?"

"I don't know," Scarlett grumbled. "You seem to annoy many people."

"It is hardly intentional," Sherlock replied back to her. "Although I fail to care if I do so...but...there is no one. The last few cases we've had I've managed to solve so it is none of them..."

"So it is Moriarty," Scarlett confirmed and Sherlock sat down onto the sofa, the other end of her and buried his head into his hands.

"We can't jump to conclusions," Sherlock replied. "We just can't."

...

"Why the hell are you phoning me?" Scarlett hissed as she stood in her living room. Sherlock and John had to go out for the case and so Sherlock had refused to let Scarlett leave 221 Baker Street. Currently, she was waiting on some men to come and fit new windows into the flat whilst she swept up all the broken glass shards and other things which had been destroyed.

"We need to talk," his gruff voice said from the other end of the phone. "I heard about what happened at your apartment last night...it's been all over the news."

"What?" Scarlett gasped and he chuckled.

"Well it isn't an everyday occurrence," he told her. "I need to talk to you Scarlett."

"I'm not really in the mood James," Scarlett said curtly. "And after what happened...I'm not entirely sure that's for the best."

"Look," he said, "I'm sorry for making a move...I didn't realise you had a boyfriend and you never mentioned him."

"Me and Sherlock..." Scarlett replied. "It's complicated."

"I can tell," he replied. "He did manage to give me a good black eye."

"Well I think you did enough damage to him also," Scarlett replied, bending down onto her knees and sweeping up more shards, looking around and realising there was a hell of a lot to sweep up.

"And I'm sorry," James apologised. "I was drunk and irresponsible. I picked up on the wrong signs and I am sorry Scarlett...I don't want us to be like this."

"James," Scarlett complained. "I...I don't know what to say...I hate fighting with anyone..."

"Then just come down here and talk to me," he pleaded with her and Scarlett raised a brow;

"Come down here?" she wondered.

"I'm outside your flat," he told her and she walked over to where the thin sheet was covering the open space and she looked onto the street, and, sure enough, there was James, stood with his mobile to his ear.

"Please Scarlett," he said and the young woman sighed, running a hand over her cheek and nodding;

"I'll be there in a moment," she promised. Quickly, she placed her flat shoes on and grabbed onto her cardigan which was on the sofa before she moved down the steps and out of 221B Baker Street.

"Hey," James said and Scarlett folded her arms across her body, keeping herself warm as she looked at James who handed her a hot chocolate in a polystyrene cup. She took it and raised a brow;

"I have these inside," she told him and he shrugged;

"I thought it might be a peace offering," he managed to grin at her and watched intently as she sipped on the brown liquid. As soon as she took a sip she felt her body change. Suddenly, she felt her limbs automatically become heavy and she began drooping on the quiet pathway as she noted a car pull up on the side of the pavement.

"James," she whispered. "What's going on? I don't feel..."

"I told you that you wanted me Scarlett," he said, catching her under her arms as she fell, dropping the hot chocolate onto the pavement, the liquid spilling everywhere. "And he does pay well...and I don't like rejection"

"James," she whispered. "No...please..." she begged as she felt herself fall into unconsciousness and he bundled her into the cab.

"Moriarty will be pleased," he simply murmured into her ear before she truly did fall asleep.

...

"He's trying to distract us John," Sherlock said as they walked back to Baker Street in the evening. "Like last time when he was after something."

"So what do you think he is after?" John wondered and Sherlock pursed his lips;

"I don't want to think," he said, but he had an idea. Bounding into 221B, Sherlock ran into the living room and looked around. It was still a tip and the windows were still broken and covered with thin cloth.

"Scarlett?" Sherlock yelled into the flat, walking through the rooms, slamming doors open as he went.

"John! Go down and ask Mrs Hudson if she has seen Scarlett!" he ordered his friend as he ran through the flat, his breathing becoming rapid as he simply began to shake slightly.

"Mrs Hudson said she came back to the apartment earlier but she hasn't seen her all day...she's been out too," John said. "What's going on?"

"She's gone," Sherlock said and John's eyes popped open wide, his mouth falling slightly.

"Maybe she went out?" John asked and Sherlock shook his head.

"No," he said. "I told her not to and she would have finished cleaning if she knew she was going to go out. She hasn't got her BlackBerry or her bag or her keys so she hasn't gone out...he's got her."

Suddenly, Sherlock felt his phone begin to ring, checking the ID he wasted no time in answering it as the caller's name was blocked.

"Hello," Sherlock remained calm for a moment.

"Sherlock," he heard a soft whisper. "Sherlock."

"Scarlett?" he asked her. "Is that you?"

"I'm so sorry," he heard her sob lightly. "I didn't..."

"What is it? Where are you?" Sherlock asked her quickly. "Come on Scarlett...talk to me..."

"James was in on it Sherlock," Scarlett said quickly before she felt her hair being pulled back and the phone being snatched from her hand. "He knows him Sherlock...ow!" she managed to yell, her voice going high pitched as James yanked her head back, her hair feeling like it may come from her head.

"Scarlett!" Sherlock yelled down the phone. "Talk to me!"

"Oh she would Sherlock," new voice came onto the phone, his voice instantly recognisable. "But she's ah...well...a little tied up at the moment. Quite literally too."

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked. "What have you done to her?"

"Oh I've done nothing to her Sherlock," Moriarty simply said, allowing James to gag her as she remained tied to the chair, protesting profusely as Moriarty bent down behind the chair, his face close to her cheek as his finger wiped away a tear which had fallen down her cheek. "Of course, I do plan to hurt her."

"And James?" Sherlock asked. "What's he in this?"

"Oh you know me Sherlock," Moriarty chuckled, looking at the young solicitor. "Make false promises and manage to get myself a puppet in the process."

"Why now?" Sherlock asked. "You said you'd wait."

"I did, didn't I?" his voice went high pitched as he saw Scarlett tremble. "Well...I prefer to use the element of surprise...and I did give you a warning last night Sherlock...was the shooting not enough?"

"So it was you?" Sherlock checked.

"Who else?" he smiled.

"Where is she Moriarty?" Sherlock asked. Moriarty took out his gun, stroking it lightly and dangling it in front of Scarlett as she began to breathe deeply and cry even harder, screaming through her gag.

"What are you doing to her?" Sherlock yelled.

"Oh just playing Sherlock," Moriarty drawled. "Don't worry though...the game will soon end...and I'll be the winner and you nothing more than a loser."

"I swear to God," Sherlock said. "Tell me where she is and I may consider making your death quick and less painful than my original intention."

"Empty threats," Moriarty tutted. "So you have fallen for her then Sherlock?" Moriarty stood in front of her, bending down, resting his hands onto her knees as he moved a strand of blonde hair from her face.

"Leave her alone," Sherlock drawled and Jim laughed slightly into the phone;

"I'll talk to you later Sherlock," Moriarty said. "I have a new pet to play with."

...

Please do review and thank you to anyone reading this so far!


	21. Chapter 21

"Why did you do this James?" Scarlett asked the solicitor as he stood the other side of the large empty concrete room, leaning against the wall in his thick winter coat as he looked at Scarlett who was sat on a chair, her hands tied behind her back and her legs tied to the legs of the chair. Moriarty had allowed the gag to be removed from her mouth and he had left her in the care of James and surely some other people outside the room whilst he went to go and attend to some business.

"What?" James asked her. "Give you to Mr Moriarty?"

"Mr Moriarty," Scarlett chuckled. "He's got you trained well, hasn't he?"

"Shut up," James hissed. "He pays me well...and you openly rejected me Scarlett...I didn't like that."

Scarlett remained silent as James continued with a sigh, admiring his gloved hands.

"And," he continued, "by doing this I get to live...and become some form of millionaire and so I see no downside for me if I have to be blatantly honest."

"I thought you were a nice guy James," Scarlett told him. "I never thought you'd think of selling me out."

"Unfortunately he gave me a better offer than you could have even fathomed," James replied and Scarlett shook her head and heard a door bang behind her.

"Daddy's home little ones," Moriarty's sudden voice spoke into the room and he began to walk past Scarlett until he saw her face which was full of hatred.

"Our dear Sherlock is in a bit of a state Miss Jenson," he informed the girl. "Gone running around London and is searching for you I do believe...he's taken his little lapdog with him too."

"He's called John," Scarlett replied.

"Oh I know," Moriarty replied, sounding bored and then he looked at James when he heard him cough loudly. He raised his brow at the younger boy who was stood with his arms crossed;

"I was just wondering when I can go," James said. "And when I get paid."

"Oh." Moriarty replied. "You've done well...James," he clicked his fingers, just managing to remember his name.

"So when do I get paid?" James asked and Moriarty smirked and crossed his fingers, looking at them as he reached into his pocket;

"You know when you cross your fingers when making a promise than it doesn't necessarily count?" he told the young man with an evil smile playing across his lips as James paled;

"You promised!" James snapped and Moriarty went;

"Tut, tut," in a quiet voice. "You don't yell at me."

"You arsehole!" James yelled. "I gave her to you on a plate!"

"And I thank you. Really, I do," he said. "Sherlock was getting in the way a little too much for my liking...but your usefulness has worn out."

"Screw this!" James snapped, "I'm leaving," and he began walking across the empty room as Moriarty drew his gun quickly from his jacket and pointed it straight at the solicitor, shooting three bullets straight through his head. Scarlett screamed out in terror when she saw James tumble to the ground and then Moriarty aimed his gun at her head and she began yelling quickly at him and shaking her head.

"No!" she screamed. "Please...don't...I don't want to...don't..."

"You're a funny one Scarlett," Moriarty grinned, lowering the gun and placing his gun into his jacket once again as he clicked his fingers and two men began to drag out James' corpse whilst he continued looking at Scarlett.

"I had Sherlock and John in a situation like this...had them at gunpoint...and Sherlock...he never even begged for his life. Not once," Moriarty raised his finger to exaggerate the once and Scarlett sniffed loudly;

"I'm not like Sherlock," she replied.

"No," he said. "You're nothing like Sherlock and John. Or I, for that matter...the thrill doesn't excite you."

"The thrill of waiting to see if someone is going to kill you?" Scarlett couldn't help but shriek in absolute panic.

"Or the thrill of cases to solve. Puzzles, if you will dear," he replied, pacing up and down in front of her.

"No," she replied. "I don't care for it."

"I can't see why Sherlock went for you," Moriarty shook his head. "You're just some simple girl...nothing special like him...but," Moriarty smirked, "he did go for you hence why I intend to watch you suffer for a long time before I finally allow him to see you, only to beg for your life to be spared."

"And you -being the kind soul you are- won't comply?" Scarlett guessed as he simply chuckled and pulled his phone out from his pocket and began to dial Sherlock's number, placing it onto speakerphone as he drew his gun out.

"Hello," Sherlock's voice echoed the cold and empty building.

"Good evening Sherlock," Moriarty drawled. "How is your running around London in search of dear Scarlett going?"

"So you're still watching?" Sherlock asked, twirling around, his grey coat flaring around him as he looked onto the Thames River and John stood beside him, looking onto the grey murky water too.

"I'm always watching Sherlock," his voice went high pitched. "Tell me, how is the search going? I haven't left you any clues this time...surely that tells you something?"

"Oh it tells me plenty," Sherlock said. "But you know that I won't stop searching for her."

"Well there will come a time when you won't need to search anymore," Moriarty promised him. "Because she will be dead."

"But is she okay?" Sherlock asked. "I want to talk to her," he demanded and Moriarty took the phone from speakerphone and placed it to Scarlett's ear;

"Talk to your little boyfriend then Scarlett," Moriarty pushed her and Scarlett looked down onto her lap before sniffing.

"Sherlock," she whispered. "It's me."

"I'll find you Scarlett," Sherlock said. "You're going to be okay, I promise..."

"I'm scared Sherlock," she admitted to him.

"I know," Sherlock said hurriedly. "But you need to be brave, okay? Just this once, you need to be brave until I come and fetch you."

"I'll try," she promised him.

"I get that you can't tell me where you are," Sherlock said to her.

"I don't know anyway Sherlock," she sighed. "I have no idea.."

"It's fine," he said, "I'll figure it out."

He listened into the background, wondering if he could hear anything unique, but nothing came to him at all. It was silent. But that also told Sherlock something. Quietness meant he had taken her somewhere no one went, where there was no traffic. She couldn't be outside of London; it wasn't possible for her to have gotten there that fast so that left many different areas.

"Scarlett," Sherlock whispered. "Where you are...is it quiet? As in deserted? Just answer yes or no."

"Yes," Scarlett muttered back and Sherlock nodded once;

"Does it look abandoned?"

"Yes."

"And is it big?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Hold on Scarlett," Sherlock told her.

"I'm sorry," Scarlett suddenly sobbed. "I shouldn't have gone out...I should have stayed in..."

"This is not your fault," Sherlock assured her. "None of this."

"Chat time is over kiddies," Moriarty said. "Daddy doesn't want to have to pay too much for a phone bill," he said and placed the phone back onto speaker as Sherlock's voice rang out;

"Where is she?" he pushed Moriarty again.

"With me," he teased and made a clicking noise with his gun;

"What was that?" Sherlock worried. "I swear if you hurt her..."

"Oh no," Moriarty replied. "I'm waiting until she begs for death and then I shall be happy to oblige her...and I'll even allow you to see her then"

"So what?" Sherlock snapped. "What do you plan to do?"

"This." Moriarty simply said and he pointed the gun at Scarlett and fired it, the bullet scraping her arm, causing the girl to yell out in pain and fear as her eyes closed and she began to cry loudly.

"Stop it!" Sherlock yelled and then there was another shot as he aimed for her other arm and she yelled once again;

"Sherlock!" she yelled out. "Please..."

"Didn't I tell you that I would have her begging you to save her?" Moriarty yelled with his mouth close to the phone, his voice and Scarlett's screaming haunting Sherlock's ears.

"I'm going to find you," Sherlock assured him. "And when I do...Jim won't be fixing any more problems."

"Good luck Sherlock," Moriarty said, "you'll need it."

...

So will Sherlock be able to save the day? Please leave me a review to let me know what you think!


	22. Chapter 22

Moriarty simply ripped Scarlett's cardigan from her body, the blood on both her arms trickling down onto it and creating a mess. Simply, he allowed her to just sit in her white vest top, skinny jeans and flat shoes. He could see she was shaking, probably from the shock of being shot at and of the cold. Moriarty ordered for bandages as he pressed them against the wound which had grazed her arms.

"You can stop baling," he informed her, slightly annoyed he was the one getting his hands dirty, but when it came to Holmes he wasn't as annoyed at the fact. "You're going to live. For now, anyway."

"Just...please let me go," she begged, sounding pathetic as she did so, not wanting to be anywhere near Moriarty. "I...I don't want to die..."

"No one wants to die," Moriarty said, standing tall and looking down onto her. "But we can't always get what we want."

...

"She said she was somewhere big, empty and quiet," Sherlock said as he and John sat in the back of a cab, on the way to Lestrade, seeing if he could possibly help them. "Which means that it is abandoned and a place where no one goes to...which means that it is probably a warehouse in the middle of a derelict area. Because he will need somewhere that he can torture her and she won't attract attention by screaming."

"But there are millions of derelict places around London," John informed his friend who just nodded back at him;

"That's why we're off to Lestrade," he said. "I need a big map to locate all the places that are possible and then satellite images to see if there has been any movement in the last few hours near them. And if there are cars parked outside then we know we've hit the gold."

"And by telling Lestrade...does that mean you plan to involve the police? It might be wiser," John told his friend who simply snorted at John and shook his head;

"They're more likely to get her killed," Sherlock said. "I don't need help."

"This is her life at risk Sherlock," John replied quickly. "You need help to find him."

"If he can sense the police sniffing around then he is more likely to kill her," Sherlock replied. "And you think I don't know her life is at risk?"

"I don't know if you're truly worried for her life or if you're just happy there is something to solve," John admitted. "Because I know you get off on it."

"This isn't a case," Sherlock replied. "Yes, it is a puzzle to solve but believe me John; I am getting no form of enjoyment from this."

"So you don't think he shot her...and...well..." John didn't know how to say it but Sherlock shook his head;

"She was screaming too loudly," he informed his friend. "If he had shot her to kill her then she wouldn't have been able to scream as loudly as she did."

"So what happens if we manage to find out where he has her?" John asked and Sherlock simply shook his head, a small grin crawling onto his lips as he thought about it;

"I haven't thought that far ahead," he admitted. "Go with the flow I imagine."

"Even though her life is at stake?" John asked and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes at John;

"Lives have been at stake before John and I managed to save them by improvising...this is not different."

"But it is," John pointed out. "Because it's Scarlett."

"Apart from that fact," Sherlock droned. "I need to try and not think about that...just manage to solve the case."

...

"Sherlock," Lestrade sighed when he saw the consulting detective enter his office at ten past ten at night. "What the hell is this about?"

"I need to use your lab," he told Lestrade. "For maps."

"What?" Lestrade asked. "Why?"

"Because I just do," Sherlock replied. "It is best if you didn't know."

"It's my lab Sherlock," he informed him and Sherlock simply gritted his teeth;

"And you should think yourself lucky that I came to ask you instead of simply just breaking in like I have done on many occasions," Sherlock said and Lestrade raised a brow and crossed his arms;

"You can't break in because there is a code," he pointed out and Sherlock simply snorted loudly at the man and shook his head;

"Which is completely predictable," he replied. "You should think about changing it...I mean 999...how obvious and dull."

"So why didn't you just break in then?" Lestrade wondered.

"Because I knew that security wouldn't be asleep yet and would spot me on the cameras," Sherlock said.

"Security don't sleep," Lestrade said. "They're not paid to do that."

"You're not paid to work long nights but you still do," Sherlock pointed out. "Now the lab...do I have your permission to use it?"

"Why?" Lestrade pushed.

"Because I need satellite images which are up to date because Scarlett has gone missing," Sherlock managed to say.

"And how is that the police's problem?" he asked and Sherlock walked from his office, John and Lestrade close on his tail;

"Because," Sherlock snapped, "it's Moriarty."

"Moriarty?" Lestrade asked again and Sherlock couldn't help but grit his teeth;

"Yes," he replied. "And I need to find him."

"You mean we need to find him," Lestrade said. "The police are after this creep Sherlock."

"No," Sherlock replied. "You're not to get involved. He'll know if the police come and then she will surely dead."

"You think we're just going to let you go off and search for this criminal?" Lestrade asked.

"You have no say," he said and began to unlock the doors to the lab before walking inside and booting up computers whilst Lestrade shook his head as Sherlock's phone began to ring.

"What now?" he snapped, knowing it would be Moriarty.

"That's not very pleasant," Moriarty drawled back to Sherlock. "Seeing as how I have your dear Scarlett down here with me."

"So you haven't killed her yet?" Sherlock checked and Moriarty chuckled, stuffing his hand into his pocket and simply smirking as he spoke down the phone to Sherlock.

"No," he said. "Not yet...give me time Sherlock...and I will."

"So what do you want?" Sherlock replied, loading up maps of derelict industrial estates with factories in London where she could be and then looking for any sign of life or cars in the past hour.

"To tell you to get the police away," he said and Sherlock suddenly placed the phone onto speaker so Lestrade could hear him. "Because if I even get a whiff of them smelling around then I will kill her. Soon."

"They're not going to get involved," Sherlock promised.

"So why are you with Lestrade now? Apparently you entered Scotland Yard and the only one you'd go to is Lestrade," Moriarty said and Sherlock thought up some lie, not wanting Moriarty to know he was closer to finding him because then he may move Scarlett and Sherlock would have to start the game all over again and he couldn't be dealing with that.

"I was thinking about getting him involved," Sherlock lied quickly. "But I have now thought against it."

"Oh good," Moriarty drawled. "Because she's still alive for now Sherlock...but I could soon change that."

"Don't even think about it," Sherlock warned, his voice low.

"Oh I have thought of it," Moriarty replied and held his gun out again, pointing it at Scarlett, but then with a swift chuckle he moved over to the girl and grabbed her hair, pulling her head backwards as she screamed in pain again at him and he rested his cheek against her neck as he continued talking to Sherlock.

"Hear that Sherlock?" He asked the consultant. "The sounds of her screams...things you'll not be able to stop..."

And then Sherlock hung up. Moriarty looked at the phone, letting go of Scarlett as he saw the end of his call.

"Sherlock," John whispered. "What did you just do? Did you hang up on him?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied, typing ferociously.

"But...he could have hurt her!" Lestrade pointed out and Sherlock shook his head as his phone began to ring again but he rejected the call.

"No," Sherlock said. "As long as I'm on the phone he plans to torture her to get a reaction from me so if I'm not listening he'll stop and get annoyed with me instead."

"And when he's annoyed he may hurt her," John counteracted.

"He won't," Sherlock said defiantly. "He wants me to know when he hurts her...he won't kill her as long as I don't know about it."

"And you're sure, are you?" Lestrade asked. "Because this is an actual life at risk!"

"And you think I don't know that?" Sherlock snapped through gritted teeth. "So why don't you just go away?"

"Because he is of police interest!" Lestrade yelled back.

"And you heard him say that if the police get involved then he is willing to kill her...so you want her death on your hands, do you?" Sherlock asked him, his eyes still on the screen of buildings.

"This is police matters Sherlock," Lestrade said. "This is why we're here...you can't go chasing him on your own."

"And you can't come because he will kill her. I know him," Sherlock replied and realised where she had to be, making a mental note and not telling anyone in the room.

"We can't just let you go Sherlock," Lestrade said. "It won't look good on us."

"Then play innocent," Sherlock said and quickly began to leave the room, running from the lab and to the stairs where he began playing with his phone again and Lestrade and John followed him.

"I can't Sherlock," Lestrade said.

"Yes you can," Sherlock said. "I need to do this alone."

"Whoa," John replied. "Alone?"

"Yes," Sherlock said quickly.

"I don't think so," John said. "I won't let you."

"Me too," Lestrade said as they continued walking briskly.

"You can come," he pointed at John. "But you can't,"he said, pointing at Lestrade befroe he hailed a cab in the fresh air, allowing John to climb into it.

"Sherlock," Lestrade warned him as Sherlock climbed into the cab and began to shut the door;

"When have I ever let you down?" Sherlock asked Lestrade. "And don't even think about doing another drug bust in my flat," he warned and shut the cab door, leaving Lestrade wondering where he was going as it drove off. He could have stopped it if he wanted to. He knew he could have. But the question Sherlock had asked him had made him realise that maybe he could manage this again.


	23. Chapter 23

"Stop here!" Sherlock commanded the cabby as they stopped on the middle of a busy street and Sherlock jumped out, hopping over the railing as John paid and followed him, not as elegantly making it over the metal pole.

"This doesn't look industrially derelict," John commented and Sherlock nodded;

"Very observant of you John," he said quickly. "We can't simply get a cab to where Scarlett is. He has people tailing us. How else would he know where we were going?"

"That's true," John agreed with Sherlock. "So where do we go?"

"Just follow me," Sherlock said and John sighed, knowing he wasn't going to get any more information from the consulting detective who was busy, walking briskly through side streets, looking around to make sure they weren't being followed by anyone.

"Up there?" John muttered when he saw Sherlock begin to scale a ladder, climbing as quickly as he could onto the rooftop of the building where he then stood and looked down onto another building where two men were stood outside, wearing black coats as black cars remained hidden out of view. Sherlock ducked down as fast as he could, and John copied, both of them peering over the rooftop and looking at the two men.

"What now?" John asked. "You think he has this whole building covered?"

"I don't think so," Sherlock said. "He doesn't have too many men...down there!" Sherlock suddenly pointed down to the door which was at the side and John looked at him;

"You think we can sneak down there and get in without them noticing," his pointing finger went from the door Sherlock was on about to the one which was being guarded by the men.

"I think we can try," Sherlock said and began to scale back down the building. John had no option to follow him, his hand resting on the gun in his jacket and the two of them rested flat against the building, peering around the corner, seeing the door and knowing that around the corner next to that one there was some people who wouldn't hesitate in blowing their heads from their shoulders. Sherlock took the lead, slowly he moved from safety and down the gap between the buildings, shimmying down the wall as he went, hearing the men's voices on the phones but ignoring them as he reached the door, indicating for John to come and join him. With one slight prayer under his breath, John followed Sherlock and they looked at the small little fire exit door. Sherlock saw it was locked and wondering what to do as he knew he needed something sharp and small.

"Pass me your keys," he ordered John.

"It's a different lock Sherlock," he informed him and Sherlock rolled his eyes;

"Just do it."

John pulled his keys from his pocket and Sherlock took the keychain, leaving the key and handing it back to John. The keychain was attached to wire which was twirled around it and made to connect it onto a key. Sherlock slowly began to bend the silver wire until he managed to straighten it slightly and then he bent down to the lock, prodding the wire inside, picking at the locks until he finally heard a creek noise and the door edged open and Sherlock chucked the keychain back to John;

"Brilliant," he whispered and Sherlock grinned as he moved into the concrete building, and he noted they were in a stairwell, stairs going up and then some going down. Slowly, he moved in and John shut the door slowly and quietly, looking up the steps as he did so. Sherlock simply just edged along the wall and looked through the small glass pane in the door and he felt his breath falter at what he saw. Scarlett. She was in the middle of a room, tied to a chair as Moriarty circled her; much like a predator circled its prey. He saw how he hit her across the face and her blonde hair flew across her face. He then watched how he stood in front of her, the gun dangling on his pinkie finger whilst Sherlock took in the white bandages on each of her arms and how her face was bruised, her whist vest top dirty and her hair matted.

"She looks a bloody mess," Sherlock whispered as John took to look through the glass and then hit his friend lightly on the arm;

"Don't tell her that when you go in there," he said and Sherlock chuckled;

"Well I'm not lying to her," he said. "Do you have your gun?"

"Yes," John said and Sherlock nodded;

"Go upstairs and see if anyone is looking down onto the room...as soon as I have Scarlett I'm going to run back out here...you call the police and then meet us," Sherlock instructed John.

"And how do you plan on getting Scarlett?"

"I'll worry about that when I come to it."

...

"Did you tell him anything?" Moriarty snapped at Scarlett as he circled her. "Because we've lost him!"

"I don't know!" Scarlett yelled back, gritting her teeth together. "How was I supposed to tell him? You've been here the whole time and I don't even know where we are!"

"I wouldn't lie to me Scarlett," he urged her. "I let you speak to him one time...what did he say?"

"I don't remember," she said and Moriarty felt her test his patience, his hand quickly straightening out and he hit her across the face as she gasped loudly in shock and then sat back up and looked at him. She was so scared it was unreal, and yet, at the same time she was angry with him. Arsehole.

"Because when I find Holmes, Scarlett," he threatened, "I'm going to destroy him...and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Oh I don't know," a booming voice came into the quiet room, his voice loud and commanding, full of authority as he walked. The door slammed behind him and he walked with purpose into the empty space, fidgeting with his gloves on his hand as he did so. "I don't think you're going to destroy me...possibly me destroying you is more likely..."

"So you managed to find her," Moriarty said and Sherlock's eyes glanced briefly at Scarlett and then fluttered back to look at Moriarty who was grinning widely with glee.

"It wasn't that difficult. You need to find better hiding spaces though," Sherlock wrinkled his nose, suddenly feeling cocky. "This is ghastly."

"I thought it would be a nice place to end this," he replied. "So how did you find out where we were?"

"I would tell you," Sherlock drawled. "But you'll have plenty of time to figure that out when you're rotting in some jail cell I imagine."

"I thought I said no police," he pointed his gun at Scarlett, the tip of it digging into her temple as she shuddered in fear of what he was going to do to her. Her head was bowed and tears fell from her eyes and down her grimy face.

"I haven't called them," Sherlock said. "Yet," and he began walking the perimeter of the room as Moriarty continued;

"And you really think you'll have chance to? I have men surrounding this building Sherlock...and...well...another little surprise," Moriarty chuckled and John looked down from his hiding spot after having managed to knock out the one sniper he saw with the hand of his gun and noticing there was no others. He could have sworn there would be more and he was right when he saw one stood across the room from him on the walkway which went around the second floor. John slowly moved up, aiming his gun at the man's head and he suddenly shot.

"What was that?" Moriarty wondered and Sherlock yawned loudly;

"Probably your sniper going off," he lied, seeing John on the top floor who raised his hand in acknowledgement.

"Anyway," Sherlock said. "What is this little surprise?"

"I'm surprised you haven't guessed," he said to Sherlock, managing to sound slightly disappointed, ignroing the previous noise, not caring because he had a plan. "You do know how I love explosives...and this is going to be a test for you Sherlock."

"How so?" Sherlock asked.

"Time will tell...you see...there was always this little voice in the back of my head, telling me you may find me...but I didn't believe it and yet I still have a backup plan. Surely that tells you something?" he grinned and Sherlock turned slightly pale and Moriarty chuckled.

"It tells me," Sherlock said, "that Jim doubted himself...making himself less confident in his plans."

"Oh no," Moriarty shook his head quickly. "Not that. It tells me that I'm always prepared. Now the question is Sherlock. How badly do you want me dead?"

"I don't think words can describe," Sherlock said lowly and he saw Moriarty pull a stick with a red button from his jacket and he twirled it idly.

"Because I plan to walk out of here Sherlock...and I also plan for Miss Jenson here to die."

"I'd disagree," Sherlock said and Moriarty chuckled.

"You can waste your time here Sherlock," he said, "trying to free your new little girlfriend and kill both of you...or you can save yourself and leave her to die and come after me. Revenge, Sherlock."

Sherlock said nothing, words couldn't become of him at that moment in time whilst John simply just listened to the conversation.

"This whole room is going to be blown to smithereens when I press the button," Moriarty said. "You won't have time to get Miss Jenson from here."

"Go Sherlock," Scarlett suddenly said and his emotionless eyes turned onto her and he saw her crying quietly. "I'm dead...don't kill yourself..."

"For once the girl speaks sense," Moriarty said shrilly. "As soon as I press this then you have twenty seconds."

"Do it." Sherlock said lowly and John began to run back down the stairs, standing near the door but not entering the room.

"If you insist." Moriarty said and he slowly lifted his finger up and began walking over to the exit. As he stood next to the door he looked back at Sherlock and Scarlett;

"I'll see you soon Mr Holmes," he said, confident he was going to leave Scarlett. And then he pressed the button and the timer began, allowing himself to leave the room.

Sherlock wasted no time, as time could not be spent messing around and he quickly ran over to Scarlett and John ran into the room.

"What you doing?" she screamed as he picked the chair up and John ran to help him.

"Saving you," he said and they began to run to the stairwell, struggling to keep hold of the chair as they did so.

"Where are we going?" John shouted. "This place is going to blow Sherlock!"

"I know that," he said and managed to squeeze through the door and then Sherlock saw the stairs in the stairwell they had come from.

"Down there!" he said and walked down the steps, balancing Scarlett as he did so until they went deeper.

"Oh God," Scarlett sobbed. "We're dead."

"No we're not," Sherlock said, getting them to basement level and shutting a steel door on them as soon as a loud bang sound erupted. Rubble fell from the ceiling above them and Sherlock knocked Scarlett's chair to the floor, his body covering hers as John held his hands over his head, dust becoming too much for him as he began to cough loudly.

"Scarlett," Sherlock whispered her name. "Are you okay?"

"Yes...I think so..." she said and Sherlock quickly set about removing the ropes from her body and she fell onto the floor and slowly sat up, coughing and spluttering as she went, not seeing in the dark basement room. Sherlock pulled his phone out and illuminated light into the room;

"Are you alright John?" he asked.

"Apart from almost dying?" he checked. "Yes...I'm fine..."

"Good," Sherlock said and he looked around the room, standing up quickly and looking around the small basement he had managed to get them trapped into. He walked back up the steps but he found them blocked by rubble, and he knew that if he moved the rubble then more stones would fall down.

"Let me guess," John said dryly, "we're trapped."

"You are very melodramatic John," Sherlock complained. "A building has been blown up...Lestrade may have some common sense to know we have been here."

"How long will that be?" John complained and Sherlock shrugged;

"I'm not psychic John," Sherlock said dryly and sat back down, leaning against some rubble as he sighed loudly, feeling tired suddenly.

"Sherlock," he heard Scarlett suddenly whisper and he looked at her as she sat near John, her arms tightly held around her legs. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologising for being taken hostage?" Sherlock wondered but she shook her head at him;

"For getting you stuck down here," she said and Sherlock snorted;

"I could have left you Scarlett," he told her. "It was my choice to come here and save you."

"Thank you," Scarlett suddenly blurted out. "I...I didn't want to die...but I didn't want you to be stuck here...I never wanted any of this..."

"That would be a strange thing to want if you ask me," Sherlock replied dryly and he saw her shaking.

"You're cold," he said and John began to remove his coat but before he had a chance to undo a button, Sherlock had stood up and was walking over to her, removing his coat as he sat beside her and placed it around her shoulders, allowing her to place her arms into it. It was far too big for her but she didn't care.

"I...I don't know what to say Sherlock," Scarlett said.

"Words are not needed," he assured her.

"But I should say something...you just saved my life," she said and Sherlock grinned slyly;

"Didn't I just?" he whispered.

"But you...you chose me Sherlock...you could have found Moriarty...but you chose me," Scarlett shook her head and Sherlock tilted her chin and her head moved to the side as she looked into his eyes;

"I chose you" Sherlock whispered. "Because..." he tried to think of a reason but he didn't know what to say to her. Why did he choose her? Scarlett nodded her head, allowing her hand to grasp onto Sherlock's whilst John remained quiet in the darkness.

"I know." Scarlett said simply and rested her head onto his shoulder.

...

"I'm bored," John complained a few hours after and Sherlock rolled his eyes as he stood up near the steps, shouting whilst Scarlett remained sat down, feeling woozy after being tied up for a while and her limbs were still weak.

"Honestly John," Sherlock complained. "How can you be bored? We're being rescued."

"Because we've been being rescued for the last hour."

"There's a lot of rubble to get through," he informed him and then finally it came. To start with there was bright blinding light but Sherlock knew it couldn't be the sun as his phone with no signal had informed him it had been three thirty in the morning. Slowly, Sherlock allowed his eyes to become adjusted as a small opening on the stairs appeared and Sherlock walked back over to Scarlett;

"We're getting out of here," he told her, wrapping his arm around her waist and hauling her to her feet, helping her walk over to the steps which had been cleared. Firemen helped the three of them out, bustling them to the surface as they went, helping them to step over the rubble of the collapsed building.

"Okay," Sherlock whispered as he stuck by Scarlett and he felt the girl trip over a stone, losing her footing but he caught her before she fell. Hastily, he picked her up into his arms and she didn't complain, her body being physically exhausted as she allowed Sherlock to carry her dirty body through the wreckage. She didn't know what was happening as she felt completely disjointed from her body which was being prodded about as she sat in an ambulance, paramedics telling her the wound wasn't serious and they bandaged it correctly, at one point they tried to take Sherlock's coat from her but she refused to let them take it from her shoulders and she kept it tightly around herself. The next thing she knew was being told that she would be fine and there was no need for her to go to hospital, only to go back to make sure her wounds would have healed on her arms. Sherlock silently walked her back to a police car which Lestrade had provided, much to Donovan's dismay and he kept close to her as they drove in silence back to 221B Baker Street, Scarlett falling to sleep on the journey, resting on Sherlock as she did so. John managed to let a small smile move from his lips as he saw his friend managed to wrap an arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly to him.

"What?" Sherlock wondered when he saw John looking at him.

"Nothing," his friend said. "Just...don't mess this up."

"Mess what up?" Sherlock wondered tiredly.

"What you and Scarlett have," John said and Sherlock shook his head;

"I don't intend to," Sherlock said. But he didn't intend many things. When the car stopped at their home, Sherlock gently picked Scarlett up into his arms and then they moved slowly up the steps to their flat. John walked to his room and Sherlock deposited Scarlett's body onto the bed and took his coat from her. She remained sleeping on top of the covers as Sherlock simply looked at his pyjamas and then collapsed onto the bed next to her.

"Sherlock," Scarlett suddenly whispered, crawling along the bed until she rested her head onto his chest and draped an arm over his waist boldly.

"Yes?" he asked, managing to move an arm around her shoulders, feeling her greasy hair on her back as he did so.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You don't need to keep thanking me every five minutes Scarlett," he informed her. "I know you're grateful."

"Good," she said.

"And I have to thank you," he said.

"Hm?" Sleepily she yawned.

"For giving me information...and staying strong," Sherlock said and took a deep breath for a minute. "Because," he continued in a whisper, "I don't know what I would have done if Moriarty had killed you...I truly like you Scarlett...and if you being kidnapped had to make me see that then I'm obviously slightly stupid...because as much as I hate to admit this...I'm falling for you," he said and looked down onto her and scowled when he saw her lids were shut and her breathing was light. Sherlock sighed loudly in slight annoyance that she had missed his whole speech. But he would tell her again when she was conscious. One day, anyway.

...

So Moriarty is still out there, bit of a slippery character if you ask me. But there is more to come and so thank you to anyone who has reviewed, the reviews have been so kind and I thank you all! And thank you to anyone reading this and just let me know what you think!


	24. Chapter 24

Sherlock awoke late on the Sunday morning which was approaching afternoon, looking around his room which was covered in light streaming in through the thin material of the curtains as he slowly allowed his eyes to peer down to see the girl who was still sleeping on his chest, her breathing light as her hand rested next to her cheek on Sherlock's chest. Slowly, he once again began to stroke her long blonde hair which ran down her back and his other hand rested on top of hers which was on his chest. He couldn't help but think how...well...nice it was. How he didn't mind having her sleeping on him and how he didn't even care that she was filthy from the kidnapping she had endured. He continued laying there with her and wondered what would happen now. He failed to believe that Moriarty had managed to escape from his clutches once again, if he was to be honest, he felt sick at the thought of him still being out there and what he had done to Scarlett. He couldn't believe he had to wait until he almost lost her to realise how much he had grown fond of her.

"Sherlock," her sudden voice dragged him from his sleep as she sat up idly, removing her head from his chest and bending her arm, resting on her elbow whilst Sherlock sat up completely, resting against the heard board as she ran a hand through her hair and groaned;

"Ugh...that is in need of a serious wash."

"You look fine," he promised her. "Of course you could do with a bath to clean up."

"Hmm," she agreed, looking at the bandages on her arms which had turned grubby due to her being covered in muck. "He...he got away, didn't he?"

"I believe so," Sherlock replied his voice a slight whisper. "But I'll find him again..."

"I want to help," Scarlett whispered and Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, looking into her eyes and searching for an explanation which he managed to find but Scarlett still explained;

"He hurt me Sherlock," she whispered. "I...I don't know...I just...I don't know what I want. A piece of me would be extremely happy if he just bogged off and left us be but another part of me wants to take that gun of his and just shoot him straight through the head."

"Personally," Sherlock said, "I'd go for the legs and then slowly shoot him elsewhere before delivering the final blow."

"Regardless," she murmured, "I just want him gone."

"And that won't happen until he is dead I am afraid Scarlett," Sherlock told her honestly. "But...when that day comes...I'll be prepared...and we'll get through this."

"I hope so," Scarlett said, sitting up straight and stretching her limbs and then standing slowly, taking in her appearance as she stood in front of the floor length mirror she had provided to Sherlock's room and she looked herself up and down. Her vest top was ripped in some places and her jeans were filthy. Her bare skin was covered in brown dust and dirt. Her hair was greasy and all tangled up and she had a bruise coming onto her cheek.

"You shouldn't dwell on how you look now," Sherlock told her, standing up and walking over to her, standing behind her and looking at her reflection as her hand rested on the bruise.

"Sorry," she replied. "I know I'm vain."

"No need to apologise for one of your traits," Sherlock assured her. "I actually have grown used to you standing in front of the mirror and perfecting every ounce of your body, although, if we're being honest, it doesn't need perfecting."

"Ha!" Scarlett allowed a dry and sarcastic laugh to escape her raspy throat as she looked at her hair and puffed it up with her hand;

"You can't tell me that this is attractive," she murmured and Sherlock placed his bottom lip over his top lip as he closed his eyes for a moment and titled his head to the side;

"Actually," he drawled softly. "I can't say that I mind it...you seem to manage to look stunning in anything which is popular opinion."

Scarlett remained silent as she turned around and looked at the detective whose eyes were looking into hers.

"Is that your way of complimenting me, Mr Holmes?" Scarlett managed to smile slightly and Sherlock placed his thinking face onto his features as he allowed his hands to hold onto her waist gently, not wanting to be too rough with her.

"Did it sound like a compliment?" he wondered and Scarlett nodded, her hands managing to hold onto his upper arms.

"Yes," she said, "it certainly did."

"Well in that case," he mused, "I should suppose it was...and I also have something else I need to tell you."

"Oh no," Scarlett began to panic after a moment and Sherlock simply looked at her. "You can't be breaking up with me surely...actually no...never mind that considering we were never even going out...well I thought we were dating but I didn't think you'd want to stop that...unless you don't want me."

"Scarlett," Sherlock drawled, "your babbling can sometimes be quite off putting, especially when I am trying to tell you the opposite of what you're thinking."

"What was I thinking?" She asked. "I really can't think about what I was thinking about...was I thinking anything...God damn it Sherlock when you're this close I can't even manage to be coher...what's it called?"

"Coherent?" Sherlock asked slowly, his mouth slowly descending onto hers as she shrugged lightly;

"That'll do," and then he kissed her again. If he had to be honest he had to refrain himself from chuckling when he pulled away from her as she pouted but he didn't want to go too far because she was still too weak.

"So were you about to ask me a question?" Scarlett wondered after a moment of just simply looking at the detective.

"I was," he confirmed. "And I've been thinking...that...well...nearly losing you made me understand that I never really had you, I should suppose" he pondered for a moment "and so what I'm trying to say is that...well...I'd like to try...and be normal for once when it comes to something like this...so would you consider...being an item..."

"With you?" Scarlett confirmed.

"Well I didn't think we were playing blind date," Sherlock chuckled and Scarlett nodded at him;

"I'd like that," she agreed. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Because you could have almost died and I thought it was something you wanted?" he checked and she pursed her lips;

"You have to want it too," she told Sherlock. "You don't only have to ask me because you think I want it."

"I do want it," he promised her. "I'm just apprehensive about this."

"It doesn't mean anything Sherlock," Scarlett said. "It doesn't change how we are now...it just means we...well...don't date anyone else..."

"You didn't really have to worry about that before," Sherlock said and Scarlett smirked a little;

"Only because you were oblivious to women staring at you," she pointed out. "Anyway, I'm off for a bath."

...

"Are you actually looking up what I think you're looking up?" John couldn't help but grin as he saw Sherlock sat in an armchair, a coat wrapped around him as the windows had yet to be fixed and he arranged for them to be mended that evening.

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped and he closed the laptop he had been using and John took the other armchair and grinned widely. "And you can wipe that smug look off your face."

"No," John shook his head, "I want to treasure this moment for life."

"Well I don't know what happens in these types of things," Sherlock replied. "I don't know what to expect do I?"

"So you had to Google 'role of a boyfriend'?" John asked

"The internet is a wondrous thing John," Sherlock said. "It has the answer to many things."

"So you actually asked her if she wanted to go steady with you?" John checked.

"Well things haven't exactly been going steady for us so I thought now may be the right time to ask her," Sherlock said. "Do things backwards, if you like."

"And she said yes?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said.

"Whoa," John said. "But the thing with relationships is...they come naturally...you can't programme them and Google the answer."

"And because you've been so successful in the relationship process you think I should take advice from you?" Sherlock checked and John sighed loudly;

"Sarah and I are doing fine," he informed Sherlock;

"Hm," he mused, "you're doing so well that she has left you about thirty odd voicemails since last night."

"How did you even know that?" John asked and Sherlock shrugged as he heard the kettle boil;

"Obvious," he said.

"Anyway," John shook off, "my advice is better than any a search engine can offer."

"Well that's a matter of opinion I should imagine," Sherlock said, "I'll be back in a moment" and he took his cup of tea and Scarlett's hot chocolate into the bedroom where she was sat in her cotton pyjamas and using a towel to dry her hair.

"Thanks," she said to Sherlock as he handed her the cup and she smiled at him "I've been thinking...all this happened over the weekend...and it is only Sunday afternoon...you think I can manage to get a day off work?"

"I think that should suffice," Sherlock said. "I don't think I'd let you leave anyway."

"And I know better than to defy you," Scarlett smirked and Sherlock chuckled lightly;

"You're learning fast," he informed her and took the bandage which was on the end of the bed and began to wrap it around Scarlett's wound on her arm as she placed her drink down.

"Thanks," Scarlett said as he tied it up, his hands trying to be gentle with her.

"No problem," he said, reaching for her other arm gently. "Does it hurt?"

"No," she replied. "It was just the shock of it."

"I thought so when I heard you on the phone yelling...and when you called my name...I truly felt odd when I heard that," he shuddered a little as Scarlett lifted her free hand up to touch his cheek softly and he looked into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have been stronger...not have worried you..."

"You were strong Scarlett," he assured her. "And it's over now."

"I know," she said. "So...if we're going to try and be a normal couple..." she bit her lip and Sherlock raised a brow at her;

"Yes?"

"Then normal couples go the cinema," she said and he groaned, tying up her bandage onto her other arm and then laying on the bed, closing his eyes quickly as Scarlett simply just sat beside him and ran her hand through his hair.

"I take the couple thing back," he joked with her and she shook her head;

"Too late," she said. "You made your bed now lie in it."

"Technically you make the bed," he pointed out.

"And do the washing and cleaning and shopping," she informed him.

"I was busy," he defended himself and Scarlett smiled to herself;

"You're going to love this couple business," she assured him.

"Well," he huffed, "as long as I have you it may be bearable."


	25. Chapter 25

"Sherlock!" Scarlett called into 221B Baker Street as soon as she entered the building, her coat covered with white particles of snow as she wiped her feet on the mat and shook her long blonde hair. Four weeks she had been with Sherlock and they had heard nothing of Moriarty anywhere.

"Just a moment!" Sherlock called from the living room, making a strangled noise as he did so, wrestling with the tall man who he had managed to just avoid a punch from as he ducked down and the masked man managed to fall straight into the armchair whilst Sherlock managed to kick him in the back, eliciting a moan from him.

"Now," Sherlock began calmly as his hand went onto the throat of the man and held him face down on the armchair, "I'd prefer it if you just went quietly because it is bad enough that she's back and is probably going to have a complete and utter fit when she sees this and then I'll be the one who has to bear the full front of her anger and I'm not particularly in the mood for that considering she is already making me go to see some film and so that would mean both of us being in a foul mood."

"I can't believe it is snowing Sherlock," Scarlett called up as she remained at the bottom of the stairs, fiddling with her umbrella as she did so and resting it near the door so she didn't traipse the snow into the flat.

"No?" Sherlock called back down to her as the tall man in the armchair managed to push Sherlock back and the detective fell onto the floor and rolled to the left to avoid being stood on.

"So I don't know if we should go to the cinema or not because the snow is coming down really thick and fast," Scarlett stood in front of the mirror which was in the corridor and she picked more bits of snow form her hair as she did so.

"Ha!" Sherlock rejoiced and automatically he stood up and the tall man began to circle him again.

"Things are definitely looking up!" Sherlock couldn't help but call out as Scarlett blinked multiple times and then heard a gasping noise coming from upstairs as Sherlock punched the man in the stomach.

"Everything alright Sherlock?" Scarlett called out and she began to move up the stairs, unbuttoning her coat as she went.

"Couldn't be better," Sherlock said and Scarlett froze when she saw Sherlock and a tall masked man fighting in the middle of the living room.

"What the hell!" Scarlett called out when she saw them and the tall man turned around to look at her whilst Sherlock took it upon himself to make his move and once again he wrapped an arm around his neck, but the taller man was much stronger and he began to drag Sherlock forward, his feet lifting from the ground.

"Scarlett...just...go and get help!" Sherlock yelled at her as his body slammed onto the floor and Scarlett moved further into the room and then into the kitchen where she noticed something. He would kill her. She knew that. But he would soon get over it. Scarlett reached for the object and instead of phoning for help she saw Sherlock on the floor and the tall mans foot on his throat whilst Sherlock gasped for air. Scarlett quickly moved back into the living room with the object in her hands, gripping tightly onto it as she stood behind the masked man and raised it into the air and then hastily hit him around the back of his head with it. The smash echoed everywhere and wooden shards and strings fell to the ground whilst the tall man toppled forwards, landing on Sherlock.

"Sherlock," Scarlett gasped as the consulting detective rolled the man from his body and Scarlett crouched down to help, rolling him to the side as Sherlock coughed loudly and sat up, leaning against the armchair with his back, his hand grasping onto his throat.

"Sherlock...are you alright?" Scarlett began to fuss as her hand rested on top of his which was on his throat and he coughed loudly, nodding as he did so.

"Yes..." he spat. "I'm fine...good..."

"What the hell is going on here?" she asked him as he began to stand up, allowing Scarlett to haul him to the feet.

"Never mind that," Sherlock replied and he looked at the broken wood pieces on the floor. "You smashed my violin!"

"Wh...Wha-...What?" Scarlett stammered as Sherlock picked up a curled up string and narrowed his eyes at her.

"You broke my violin!" he snapped. "You could have at least used something else...out of all the things in the flat you chose my violin to smash his head in with!"

"It was the first thing I saw!" Scarlett responded. "I wasn't really concerned for your violins safety when I saw you being suffocated to death."

"Well you shouldn't have done it," Sherlock huffed. "That's...I don't believe it..." Sherlock picked up another piece of the wood.

"I'll buy you another one if you're going to get so menstrual about it," Scarlett responded.

"But that was the only one I liked," Sherlock sulked.

"Uh," the man on the floor began to stir and Sherlock simply kicked him in the head again, knocking him out again.

"You are so childish," Scarlett replied. "I saved your life probably."

"And killed my violin," he muttered.

"Get your coat!" Scarlett snapped and Sherlock folded his arms and raised a brow;

"Why?"

"Because I'm not putting up with your mood swings for the next few days because I broke your violin," Scarlett said and she pulled his coat from the coat stand and handed it to Sherlock and then threw his scarf at him.

"Don't you think we should dispose of him before we go and rectify your mistake?" Sherlock questioned her and she gritted her teeth.

"Who the hell is he?" she asked and Sherlock shrugged;

"Funnily enough I didn't get chance to ask for a name when he broke in and began to throw punches at me," Sherlock said.

"You know what I mean," Scarlett replied back to him.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Sherlock admitted. "He could be one of Moriarty's men or he could be to do with my recent case."

"And you don't want to find out?" Scarlett asked and Sherlock shrugged, placing his coat and scarf on as he did so.

"Not really," he drawled. "Not when I am so traumatised over my violin."

"You are such a drama queen," Scarlett said. "So what do we do about him?"

"Leave him in the bin round the back of the building?" Sherlock asked and Scarlett's eyes went wide;

"I was thinking more along the lines of phoning the police?" she remained straight lipped.

"He won't talk to them or give them any information."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I do?" Sherlock responded rhetorically to her. "You grab the arms and I'll grab the legs."

...

"Sherlock," John stood in the doorway when he heard the front door slam and he saw Sherlock and Scarlett walk back into the building, shaking snow from their hair and off their coats whilst John stood at the top of the steps with his arms folded. Scarlett clutched onto the white bag in her hands as she shifted around and took off her wellies from her feet, her hand resting onto Sherlock' shoulder as she did so.

"I don't know why you needed to wear them...it isn't even that bad," Sherlock informed her.

"Because I can't wear my heels when it is this slippery and flats would have meant my trousers trailed on the floor," she informed him and he rolled his eyes as she let go of him and the two of them began to run up the steps where John was stood.

"What is this?" he asked, motioning into the living room where books were scattered and pieces of wood was about.

"Ah," Sherlock replied. "We had a little misunderstanding with a man who broke in."

"What?" John asked and Scarlett placed the large white bag onto the coffee table. Of course, Sherlock had to choose to most expensive violin to replace his old one which meant it cost Scarlett nearly all her weekly pay packet.

"Someone broke in to the flat," Sherlock responded. "Not sure why...guessing he didn't come back though so he must have ran off somewhere."

"You don't know why?" John replied.

"Do you not understand sentences I say John?" Sherlock asked. "A man broke into the flat, began to try and beat me up and then when Scarlett walks in she decides to hit him around the head with my violin," he narrowed his eyes at the young woman who simply just folded her arms and narrowed her eyes back at him and John simply chuckled and then coughed to hide it.

"You...you broke his violin?" he checked, knowing how Sherlock would have reacted to that.

"Yes," Scarlett said, turning on her heel and moving into the kitchen. "In the process of saving his life."

"I would have managed and you could have used something other than my violin."

"You're insufferable," Scarlett muttered.

"And you're reckless," Sherlock replied.

"That's hypocritical!" she snapped at him.

"Would you two be quiet?" John raised his voice. "You're like an old married couple."

"He started it!" Scarlett snapped.

"No!" Sherlock responded. "She did by breaking my violin!"

"Well maybe if you didn't almost get trampled to death then I wouldn't have had to use your violin," Scarlett responded, slamming glasses onto the worktop counter as she began to set the table for dinner.

"So it is my fault for being beaten?" Sherlock responded. "I'd hardly say that is fair!"

"If you weren't beaten then you'd still have your bloody violin!"

"Still your fault," Sherlock muttered as he heard pots slamming.

"Your fault!" Scarlett replied.

"Yours!" Sherlock snapped.

"Children!" John yelled at both of them as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen and living room, looking back to Sherlock and Scarlett. "Bickering isn't going to help."

"I don't see his problem," Scarlett responded, pouring beans into a pan and then placing them on the hob on the highest heat.

"Your broke my violin!" He spat as if it were obvious.

"I bought you a new one," Scarlett counteracted.

"I give up," John said. "It's like living with two year olds."

"It's still not the right one," Sherlock huffed again, taking his coat and scarf off as Scarlett placed toast into the toaster.

"Well it wouldn't be," Scarlett replied. "Because you're so nitpicky."

"I'm not nitpicky," Sherlock replied, folding his arms over his chest as Scarlett stirred the beans.

"Are" she replied.

"I just like things how they are," Sherlock sighed. "And now you've disrupted the flow."

"You're impossible," she murmured.

"And you're carless," Sherlock said back to her.

"You're just being an arse," Scarlett smirked sarcastically at him and he placed a hand on his chest in mock pain;

"I'm hurt," he mocked and she rolled her eyes, plating up the simple tea as she did so.

"Whatever," she responded and Sherlock walked over to the counter to collect his plate, wrinkling his nose as he did so.

"You've burnt the toast," he informed her and she caught his looking at it and she took the plate from his hands, simply raising the plate and dropping it into the empty sink as John took his tea without complaining.

"What did you do that for?" Sherlock asked her, looking at the mess in the sink and then into her eyes;

"Either like it or lump it considering you do no cooking round here."

"I would have lumped it," Sherlock told her and she narrowed her eyes and took her own plate;

"Where are you going?" he asked as she walked down the hallway.

"To eat my dinner in peace!" she yelled back.

"And what am I supposed to do?" he called.

"Learn how to open a can and make your own dinner!" And she slammed the door. Sherlock scowled at the cupboards for a moment and then with a stomp of his foot he moved into the living room and sat opposite John who was sniggering in the armchair as he ate his dinner.

"So," John began, "good night?"

"Don't even think of being sarcastic John," Sherlock replied and John simply couldn't help but grin;

"There's another can of beans in the cupboard if you can use the tin opener," he chuckled and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John.

"And the kitchen is through there Sherlock," he continued to joke as his finger outstretched and pointed at the kitchen which was unfamiliar territory with Sherlock when it came to cooking.

"Oh ha ha," Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes and he curled up into the chair, pressing his cheek into the material. "I've had a sudden loss of appetite anyway."

"Of course you have," John responded with a smirk.

...

Thank you to everyone for the kind reviews last night! They were really, really nice and I am glad you are all enjoying the story and thinking I have kept Sherlock in character as that is one of my main things I wanted to do! More to come soon so please stick with me and please leave me a review!


	26. Chapter 26

"We're going out tonight," Sherlock informed Scarlett as she placed her hair into a high ponytail on her head whilst looking into the mirror as she raised a brow and kept her gaze from Sherlock who was sat up in bed, his eyes shut as he fiddled with a nicotine patch on his arm.

"Oh are we?" she asked and Sherlock nodded;

"Yes," he stated. "So try not to be late home from work."

"And I get no say in this?" Scarlett wondered, leaning further into the mirror and checking her foundation was applied correctly.

"No," Sherlock replied. "Even though I am still mad at you for breaking my violin I am treating you."

"Don't start Sherlock," Scarlett said through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing as she turned around and pulled her blouse down, straightening her black tube skirt and slipping her heels onto her feet. "I bought you a new one...I could have just let you go without."

"Or you could have smashed something else," he muttered and Scarlett said nothing, reaching for her blazer before looking back to Sherlock;

"For the sake of not staying here and murdering you," she began, "I'm going to go to work early."

"You wouldn't have the guts to kill me," Sherlock snorted. "You could barely handle using a gun for practice."

"Don't test me Sherlock," she said and once again turned to check her final appearance in the mirror;

"Where are we going tonight anyway?" she wondered and Sherlock smiled lightly;

"You'll see," he said. "Don't be late."

"I won't," she replied quickly and grabbed her bag from his chair in the room and with one wave of her hand she left Sherlock in bed.

...

"Not the right one...strings aren't thick enough...handle is too small..." Sherlock murmured under his breath as he looked onto his new violin, sitting in the armchair he so often occupied as John walked from the kitchen and sat down opposite him after just coming back from doing the food shopping.

"What are you moaning about?" John yawned and Sherlock began to allow a scratchy tune come from the violin causing John to place his hands over his ears, fearing for his hearing until Sherlock dropped the violin onto his lap, playing with the bow.

"It's not the same," Sherlock replied. "The notes I played were far too high...it sounded monstrous..."

"To be fair," John replied, "you normally sound quite crap."

"Don't push me John," Sherlock replied. "It's bad enough she broke it and thinks she has the right to be in a mood with me...I mean really..."

"Yes," John mockingly agreed with him. "Terrible of the girl to panic and hit him over the head with the nearest thing she saw, resulting in saving your life. If I was you, I would split up from her."

"Humph," Sherlock grunted. "She'd miss me too much."

"And you'd miss her," John pointed out.

"What? Her mood swings? Ridiculous taste in music? Arguing? Not to mention she takes up nearly half her lifetime stood in front of the mirror," Sherlock responded.

"And when have you ever checked your reflection in the mirror?" John asked Sherlock.

"Not the point," he replied. "And you're by yourself tonight. I'm taking her out for a meal."

"I thought she was mad with you and you with her?" John wondered.

"And that means I can't take her out, does it?" Sherlock wondered and John shook his head;

"No...well...normally couples don't go out when arguing and all that...but you two are the weirdest couple I know," John informed Sherlock.

"Thank you," Sherlock said.

"Not sure if it was a compliment," John muttered. "Where are you taking her?"

"The new Italian which opened recently," Sherlock drawled and John nodded;

"Sounds nice," and then the clogs in his brain began to turn and he simply shook his head. "Where there was a murder? It was in the paper the other night?"

"Was it?" Sherlock feigned innocence. "How convenient."

And before John could even say anything else on the topic Sherlock began to play his violin again.

...

"I thought I told you not to be late," Sherlock informed Scarlett when she rushed from the bathroom and grabbed onto her clutch bag and began rooting through it.

"The city is covered in snow Sherlock," she informed him. "Traffic came to a standstill...I had to get out and run home in my wellies."

"I hope you're not going to be wearing them tonight," Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he simply sat and watched her search the wardrobe for shoes. "Because I am taking you to a rather classy place."

"Is this some form of apology for last night?" Scarlett wondered and placed her grey blazer onto her shoulders, covering her bare shoulders as she wore her strapless purple dress and placed her flat pumps onto her feet.

"No," Sherlock said and stood up, picking his wallet up from his bedside table. "I have nothing to apologise for."

...

"I should have worn my wellies," Scarlett said when her and Sherlock sat down in a small booth in the new Italian, Sherlock began to remove his coat and Scarlett did the same as they allowed a small gap between them in the doughnut shaped ring they were sat in. Sherlock simply grunted in agreement with her and looked around the restaurant in search of anything which could give the murderer away, for he knew it had to be a member of staff.

"You'd have looked a bit daft," Sherlock told her. "Especially with that dress...I haven't seen you wear it before."

"I only bought it the other week," she said, pulling it up slightly and Sherlock looked quickly at her in it, his eyes going up and down and he nodded;

"It suits your frame," he said and went back to looking around.

"Oh," Scarlett said. "I just liked it."

"Well you like the entire Topshop website so that's not a surprise," Sherlock mumbled and Scarlett shrugged.

"Just because I added most of it to my favourites folder on my laptop...wait a minute...you've been on my laptop?" she asked him and he managed to look at her questioning glance and simply shrugged;

"John took his to Sarah's and mine was in the bedroom," he said. "Yours was close."

"I changed the password," Scarlett said.

"Yes you did and that wasn't difficult to figure out either," Sherlock responded. "And your history is just full of clothes...it's ridiculous."

"Are we ready to order?" a chirpy voice asked and Sherlock looked up at the man who was stood away from the booth;

"Yes," Sherlock said. "An orange juice for her and a lemonade for me...and then for the main we'll share a twelve inch pepperoni pizza...oh and a ten inch garlic bread too."

With a nod at the waiter he realised he was dismissed and Sherlock took him out of the equation of being a murderer.

"I might have wanted a coke," Scarlett whispered and Sherlock shook his head;

"You only have that for a caffeine rush," he told her, "never anywhere else...now tell me," he leaned closer to her, his mouth next to her ear, "who looks capable of murder here?"

"What?" Scarlett turned around to look him in the eye as her voice went high pitched.

"Keep it down...a waiter in here is a murderer...I just need to figure out which one," Sherlock said, sitting back as their drinks came and lacing his fingers together as Scarlett sat back and folded her arms, scowling.

"What?" Sherlock asked her.

"We're here to solve a case," she hissed. "I thought you were trying to be normal."

"I quit with that the first week into whatever we are," Sherlock waved off. "So go on...I think it's him walking out...he looks nervous...sweaty palms...sweating like mad on his face and he's not in the kitchen...and now he spilt the drink... how obvious"

"I read about this," Scarlett said with a shrug, "they said that it wasn't the restaurant who did this to that man who died here...he went somewhere else because he said the food wasn't right here...they thought it was there...we tried to take the famiy's case on but no such luck."

"And do you know why he complained the food wasn't right?" Sherlock asked her and she shook her head;

"But you do," she stated and he smirked at her;

"Of course," he replied, "the food here was poisoned and he picked up on it...it was automatically thrown away so it couldn't be tested. Then when you read into it the waiter over there knew the man. He worked for him many years ago...what with the dead man being a successful business man I'm sure he turned a lot of people over to get where he was. Clearly the waiter was one of them...he knew the man had made a reservation and so he set his plan into action."

"That..." Scarlett stammered a little, "was enlightening."

"Of course it was," Sherlock drawled, playing on his mobile and texting Lestrade of what he had deduced.

"Lestrade should be here soon," he informed her. "That wasn't as long as I thought...the criminal class really need to get their act together."

"I don't know if I want to eat here," Scarlett said suddenly and Sherlock looked at her with a raised a brow;

"And why not?"

"A man was poisoned Sherlock," Scarlett replied. "I don't...it doesn't feel right..."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Sherlock assured her but she shook her head;

"Please can we go?" she asked and Sherlock sighed;

"Fine," he agreed with her and they both began to stand up, moving to the door and passing Lestrade as he walked in;

"The waiter with the sweaty palms and forehead. He looks nervous and keeps running a hand through his blonde hair."

"Your evidence?" Lestrade asked Sherlock who quickly explained and then he and Scarlett took off into the night, walking in the snow.

"So where do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked her and she shrugged;

"Anywhere," she murmured, walking close by him so she didn't bump into people walking down the street and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes;

"You're still in a mood with me," he replied and she shook her head;

"No," she said. "Well...maybe a little...but not as much...I can't be bothered."

"You can't be bothered?"

"Arguing with you is just pointless," Scarlett shrugged. "I'll never win..."

"You're not the first to realise that," he told her with a slight smirk. "But I suppose...a simple thanks can be extended...you did manage to help me with the burglar," Sherlock managed to worm the words out and he offered her his arm and she took it, keeping close to him as the snow began to pour quickly again onto the couple as they wandered around London.


	27. Chapter 27

"And how was the evening?" John asked when he saw Sherlock walk in the door behind Scarlett, the detectives eyes seemed to be trained on the woman's body as she sat down and took her heels off, rubbing her feet as she did so.

"Fine," Scarlett said. "Sherlock solved the case," she added on bitterly and John snorted, draining off the orange juice he was drinking and pushing his curry for one to the side which he had fetched that evening.

"I don't know why you're complaining," Sherlock drawled, flouncing down onto the sofa, laying back and looking at the ceiling whilst Scarlett rotated the chair to face him. "I took you out, didn't I? And you didn't have to pay."

"I should hope I didn't have to pay," Scarlett replied. "Your violin put me back enough."

"No," John raised his hands, his palms flat as he took his plate of curry back into the kitchen, "not this again."

"I'm not starting it John," Sherlock said like a little child.

"You know," John stated, "you may be some kind of genius sociopath...but you're extremely immature."

"And you're extremely annoying," Sherlock pointed out, closing his eyes and resting his hands onto his stomach, full from the buffet he had just taken Scarlett to.

"Right," Scarlett said, checking the clock and then standing up. "I'm turning in for the night."

"It's only ten past ten," Sherlock told her.

"Some of us have work in the morning," she said and picked her heels up by the tips of her fingers and stood with her other hand on her hip, looking over at Sherlock who was crashed out on the sofa;

"Work," he whispered. "How droll."

"Like I said," Scarlett replied, "I much prefer it than being shot at."

"You would," Sherlock said.

"Anyway," she shook her head, "can I be expecting you anytime soon or are you just going to meditate here?"

"Depends," Sherlock gave an awkward shrug.

"Okay then," Scarlett didn't go into detail. "See you later. Night John."

"Night Scarlett," he said and then the young woman disappeared down the hallway. As soon as she had gone, Sherlock allowed one lid to pop open and then he sat up quickly, ignoring John who had sat back down in the armchair and was looking at Sherlock questioningly as the Detective pulled out his own laptop.

"What are you doing?" he asked Sherlock who laced his hands together as he waited for the machine to load, peering at John over the top of the computer.

"The man who came last night," Sherlock said, "the one which my violin was the victim of? He works for Moriarty"

"And how do you possibly know that?" John asked Sherlock who narrowed his eyes and began to think;

"He had the same air of confidence about him when he was guarding that old warehouse, I caught sight of his long black hair from under his mask, and the man at the warehouse had long black hair. His eyes were also the same colour and he was the same build, meaning it had to be Moriarty's man," Sherlock explained.

"And you only just decided to find that out now?" John asked and Sherlock shook his head, loading himself onto the internet and to his blog.

"No," he said. "I should have realised last night...but my violin was my main priority...then tonight when I was with Scarlett at dinner I could have sworn I saw him watching us, but he was good, he turned away and walked off when I saw him."

"It could have been a stranger?" John suggested and Sherlock simply shook his head and began to type;

"No," he murmured. "It wasn't. It's too obvious."

"And...you didn't tell her, did you?" John asked, sipping his drink.

"Who?" Sherlock wondered, too involved in his work.

"Mrs Hudson," John said sarcastically. "w=Who do you think I mean?"

"Oh," Sherlock said, "Scarlett."

"Yes," John said. "The girl you share your bed with and are supposedly close to."

"I've been thinking about buying another bed to be honest," Sherlock said. "She does tend to have the habit of intruding onto my side and thinking it is alright to kick me and talk whilst she sleeps. It is most inconvenient."

"Why didn't you tell her?" John went back onto topic and Sherlock pressed the enter button, making his words stick onto his blog as he shut the laptop lid and looked at John.

"Because she'd only begin to worry and probably disapprove of my plan" Sherlock said lowly.

"What's your plan Sherlock?" John asked "please tell me it is nothing to do with Moriarty"

"Who else would it be to do with?" Sherlock responded as if John was completely and utterly stupid "I need to get rid of him once and for all...as long as he's alive then I know he can come back and hurt more people."

"You mean hurt Scarlett?" John asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes;

"What if I do mean Scarlett?" he asked. "The last time Moriarty was here it was all just a puzzle...and I didn't care about the people I was saving."

"But now you do," John stated and Sherlock allowed one awkward nod to escape his head.

"So the plan?" John asked.

"It may be best if you don't know," Sherlock mused.

"Why?"

"Because you would only go blabbing to Scarlett and then I would be the one who would receive her shouting at me and to be frank I can do without it," Sherlock informed John.

"You can't do this again Sherlock," John said. "Moriarty is a dangerous man...what if he kills you?"

"He won't," Sherlock sounded positive. "Then he'd have no one to equal him...I don't doubt that one day he will become bored and want me dead...but that day has yet to come and so I shall not worry yet."

"You know I can just read your blog and see what you wrote?" John said. "So stop being cryptic."

"Fine," Sherlock huffed. "I've told him to meet me tomorrow...the London eye, somewhere busy where he probably wouldn't dare try to make a move. I only want to talk."

"About what?" John asked.

"Nothing of relevance," Sherlock drawled. "Just about the recent killings."

"There have been killings?" John asked. "You never mentioned them."

"That's because Lestrade and his cronies are trying to keep it all hushed up. He text me earlier when I was with Scarlett asking for help. The people who are being killed are all the same...young women...blonde hair, blue eyes..."

"What are you saying Sherlock?" John wondered.

"I'm saying," Sherlock hissed, "that the women being killed have been to nightclubs and their deaths made to look like accidents...hit and run drivers...doing drugs in the bathroom...too much alcohol. But the recent victim survived the attack...and she told Lestrade that someone had paid her to just drink and have a good time and she said that as long as she was on the pavement at ten that night then she would be given her money."

"And?"

"And she went," Sherlock shrugged. "And ended up being hit by a car."

"So someone is bribing these girls to do things and then they're ending up dead?" John checked and Sherlock nodded;

"And the police only recognised the connection. Of course the fact that they didn't pick on is that all the women looked similar and that was slightly foolish of them not to realise."

"And you think this is linked to Moriarty how?" John wondered and Sherlock rolled his eyes;

"Who do I know who has blonde hair and blue eyes and likes to party as well as being fashionable and vain like all the other women?" Sherlock asked and John blinked several times;

"Scarlett?" he checked and Sherlock nodded.

"But why would Moriarty do this?" John wondered. "Kill people who look like her but aren't her?"

"I have seven possible reasons," Sherlock mused. "I think he just wants to mess with her head."

"Does she know?"

"No," Sherlock said. "But the police are coming forward with the information tomorrow."

"And she will know then?"

"Oh yes," Sherlock said. "But by then I shall have seen Moriarty and managed to find more out."

"And you're sure you know what you're doing?" John checked and Sherlock grinned;

"What a foolish question John," Sherlock muttered and then he laid back down onto the sofa. "But if my favourite blogger wants to come with me then I shan't question it."


	28. Chapter 28

"You're on the ball this morning," Scarlett commented when she moved from the bedroom and into the kitchen, placing on her simple brown blazer as she did so, pulling her blonde hair from under the collar as she looked at Sherlock who was sat on the sofa, drinking tea.

"Well," Sherlock replied, "I have a case this morning and John and I need to be out early."

"Oh right," Scarlett said, crouching down and going through her bag. "What case would this be then?"

"Ah." Sherlock said. "Nothing interesting by the sounds of it. So John and I shall be sharing a cab with you to your work this morning."

"I was thinking about walking," Scarlett admitted. "I have my wellies and it would save on cab fares."

"Don't worry," Sherlock pushed her, not wanting her walking when Moriarty was about. "We'll split it."

"Fair enough," Scarlett said. "So where are you heading to?"

"The row of restaurants which are just a few streets away," Sherlock informed her. Luckily he knew his way around London to lie to her.

"Morning," John's voice came into the living room, his eye catching Sherlock's and he gave his friend a stiff nod as Scarlett placed her coat onto her body.

"Morning John," she spoke happily and John began to hand Sherlock his coat as his friend stood up.

"We're catching a cab with Scarlett," Sherlock informed his friend who simply raised his brow. He thought they were off to the London Eye, but the look on Sherlock's face told him not to even go there whilst Scarlett was in the room.

"Well I have to be off then," Scarlett said. "Mr High wants me to finish off some paperwork this morning before his first client."

"Lead the way," Sherlock told her and she began to move down the steps of 221B Baker Street until she came to the outside world. The cab journey was spent in silence. Scarlett often looked across to Sherlock but he was sat there and looking out the window at the sights as they passed them. When it drew up outside her office building she looked at the two men and raised a hand with a smile.

"I'll see you tonight then," she said and hopped from the cab. Sherlock looked past John as she climbed out and the cab began to drive off, but Sherlock tapped on the glass;

"Wait a moment," he instructed the driver who stopped the cab and Sherlock continued looking out the glass, making sure that he saw the blonde hair move into the building safely before he allowed the cab driver to go again.

"And why," John began, "did we get a cab with Scarlett when we want to be off in the opposite direction?"

"Because if Moriarty is truly after her then I'm not letting her stray far from my sight. At least when she is at work I know he won't try anything. The building is full to the brim and he daren't make a move," Sherlock said. "Not when he wants this to be perfect."

"So you...you wanted her to get in safely...that's..." John struggled to find a word for it. "That's sweet Sherlock," he grimaced and his friend looked at him with a raised brow;

"I'd say practical," he responded and John shrugged simply;

"That too," he said. "So what's the aim of today?"

"Get rid of Moriarty...somehow," Sherlock responded, "see if it is him behind this, although I am ninety nine point nine percent positive it is."

"And you're sure he won't try anything, are you?" John asked. "Because he did strap a bomb to a man in the middle of London."

"But he wasn't there at that point, was he?" Sherlock said. "This time he will be in public."

"And where do you want me to stand?" John asked Sherlock who simply shrugged;

"To the side somewhere," Sherlock said. "This is just going to be between Moriarty and I."

"I don't like the sound of this Sherlock," John pursed his lips. "And lying to Scarlett..."

"She'll know what has been happening by tonight when the police hold their conference," Sherlock replied. "It's not like she's never going to know, is it?"

"But you could have told her," John murmured.

"And just let her worry when she has no need to yet? At least this has given me twenty four hours without her constant panic," Sherlock complained.

"Sherlock." John scolded his friend. "The girl was almost killed...I think she has a right to worry, don't you?"

"Not as much as she normally does," Sherlock responded and the cab stopped. Even at nine in the morning the queue for the London Eye was building up, people were walking past it, some staring at it and some not bothered as they saw it every day. Sherlock paid for the cab and jumped out quickly, looking back at John and nodding once at him, allowing the blonde man to go off to the side somewhere whilst Sherlock took to standing in the middle of the pathway, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he looked onto the Thames and then up to the Eye, pretending to take an interest. John remained stood further back, sat on a bench, watching as people walked by him intently. As Sherlock stood there, he felt the gaze of a man on his back, and then he stopped beside him, also looking at the Eye, neither man looking at each other.

"I got your message," Moriarty drawled, "I have to say that it was very presumptuous of you to think I check your blog and would get the message."

"Oh I knew you checked it," Sherlock replied. "After all, you're so intent on knowing my every move, aren't you?"

"It's like they say Sherlock," Moriarty chuckled deeply.

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," Sherlock clarified.

"You class me as an enemy?" Moriarty raised a brow.

"Well...archenemy," Sherlock shrugged.

"That's better." Moriarty said. "Now I imagine there is a reason as to why I got out of bed to come here?"

"I want a simple yes or no answer," Sherlock demanded from him, his voice low and sounding almost bored as he spoke.

"To what question?" Moriarty wondered, watching as the Eye began to turn very slowly.

"Is it you who is killing all the young women?" Sherlock asked.

"No." Moriarty said and Sherlock looked down onto the man, standing to face him as he did so, loathing the smirk which was playing on his lips with a burning passion. "It's not me personally...I thought you knew they were all accidents?"

"We both know they're not," Sherlock replied, managing to look into his eyes. "So in that case...I have another question."

"You said you only had one," Moriarty responded. "Need to get your facts right Sherlock...this isn't good...she's making you lose your touch."

"Don't talk stupid," Sherlock replied curtly. "And the women...why are they all like Scarlett?"

"Are they?" Moriarty feigned innocence. "I had no idea."

"Of course you did," Sherlock replied.

"Tell me," Moriarty placed his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth from his heel to his toes, "does she know?"

"No," Sherlock responded.

"Tut, tut," Moriarty replied. "Keeping secrets from her so early into the relationship Sherlock? That's not a solid base."

"So I was right," Sherlock said slowly. "You're doing this to mess with her head, aren't you?"

"Clearly not as she doesn't even know," Moriarty replied, looking past Sherlock's shoulder onto the Eye, "but that will change when the police give their conference later today."

"And after she finds out?" Sherlock asked. "What do you plan to do then?"

"You'll see Sherlock," Moriarty replied. "You know me...I always have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Not this time," Sherlock replied. "I won't let you."

"That's funny," Moriarty chuckled, "you said that the last time...and I am afraid it isn't a question of you letting me...your opinion is irrelevant."

"You won't get to her," Sherlock promised him.

"Oh." Moriarty grinned. "I will...now why don't you run along and go start your feeble attempt in protecting her...I hear she's a busy girl today, what with the Allen case this morning and then the Croft case this afternoon."

"How do you even know that?" Sherlock asked and Moriarty chuckled as Sherlock paled even further.

"I know everything Sherlock," he said and clapped his hands, "so if that is all then I shall be leaving."

And Moriarty began to turn, walking a few paces from Sherlock before the consulting detective called out to him;

"And what is to stop me from shooting you right here and now?" Sherlock wondered, his hand resting onto the gun which was in his pocket as Moriarty turned around and looked at him, crowds moving around them.

"Because," Moriarty chuckled, "you wouldn't want your little lapdog to get hurt. Would you?"

Sherlock allowed his gaze to move over to John where he was sat on a bench, a tall man stood behind him, a gun hidden in his coat but aimed straight at John's head.

"This isn't over," Sherlock warned him and Moriarty grinned;

"Not by a long shot," he agreed.

...

Scarlett continued moving from her desk to the photocopier and then back to the meeting room where the meeting was in full swing and she delivered documents which were needed.

"Scarlett," Mary said curtly to the girl. "Mr High wants coffee taking into the meeting."

"And why can't you do it?" Scarlett asked as she bent over her desk, her hand resting on her mouse as she ran a hand through her hair and sent more documents to print as Mary pursed her lips, the elder woman sat at her desk and eating a pasta salad.

"Because I am on my lunch," she told her and Scarlett stood back up straight and went to the printer, taking the papers and resting them on her desk before moving over to where the kettle was, placing it onto boil. As she stood and waited, she removed a heel for a moment and stood in the small kitchen area. As she rubbed her foot she looked back out into the office from the kitchen but she froze when she saw something. Through the glass doors to the office there was a desk where people were admitted into the building via reception. And stood at reception, with a smile on his face, was Sherlock. Scarlett blinked several times as she watched him stood there, leaning against the desk carelessly, a large smile on his face as he laughed.

"What the..." Scarlett drawled, placing her heel back on and walking back out into her and Mary's office area;

"I'm off on my lunch," Scarlett said, just managing to grab her bag as her eyes remained transfixed on Sherlock at reception.

"You can't," Mary retorted "The coffee needs making and I'm on mine."

"Make it yourself," Scarlett snapped, still not looking at her. "I'm off out for an hour."

Scarlett hastily moved out the solicitor's part of the building and into the main reception where you could be admitted to other companies in the building.

"Ah," Sherlock smiled widely, "here she is."

"Sherlock," Scarlett said, "what are you doing here?"

"Coming to take my beautiful girlfriend out for dinner," he grinned and looked at the small brunette receptionist. "Anyway...I thank you for your time but there's no need to find her...because...well...she's here," Sherlock laughed and the woman laughed with him and Scarlett noticed her clearly eyeing him up.

"It's quite alright," she told Sherlock. "It was nice speaking to you Mr Holmes."

"And with you too," Sherlock said and he carelessly draped an arm over Scarlett's shoulders as he led her over to her elevator.

"You turned bipolar?" she whispered as he hit the button and stood with her.

"Quite simply being nice," Sherlock said. "I was trying to get her to drag you away from work...I believed if I was my normal self it may not have worked."

"So you tried to manipulate her to let you in?" Scarlett asked and Sherlock shrugged awkwardly, walking into the elevator and smiling at the receptionist as the doors shut before his face went back to frowning.

"If you want to call it that then yes, I was attempting manipulation," Sherlock replied to her. "But there was no need considering you saw me before I had a chance to make a move," he concluded and his arm moved from her shoulders and he adjusted his gloves.

"So why am I needed away from work?" she asked him. "Because Mary is going to have a complete fit with me and Mr High may consider firing me again."

"Don't worry," Sherlock said, "there's a perfectly sound explanation."

...

"Scotland Yard?" Scarlett asked as she rejected another one of Mary's calls on her phone.

"You'll see," he said once again as they moved into the building, Sherlock leading the way as Scarlett followed him. She noted Donovan sat at a desk and looking at her computer before Sherlock moved into an office and Lestrade sat there and raised a brow at Sherlock quizzing.

"I didn't need your help today," he commented and Sherlock shook his head;

"You do," he said. "I need you out."

"You can't just kick me out of my own office," Lestrade said and he checked his watch and Sherlock smirked;

"You have a press conference anyway," he said.

"Fine," Lestrade huffed, "don't make a mess...I think I know what this is about."

"I'm sure you do," Sherlock agreed. "You're not as dumb as they say."

"Don't push it," Lestrade warned and he left the room. Sherlock shut the door quickly and told Scarlett to take a seat behind Lestrade's desk which she did so and Sherlock pulled one around to sit next to her, opening up the case notes on Lestrade's desk, laying four photos of the dead young women on the desk, jabbing his finger at each and every one.

"Notice anything similar?" he asked Scarlett.

"They all look...well...the same," she responded and Sherlock nodded;

"In another three minutes roughly...the police are going to announce their murders...I...I had to tell you myself before you found out via someone else," Sherlock informed her, having a change of heart, knowing it would be best if she broke down where he could see her then he could control the situation.

"What are you going on about?" Scarlett asked in complete and utter confusion.

"These women were all paid to have a good time at clubs Scarlett...they were paid to take drugs and drink...be somewhere at a certain time and place...and all of them died..." Sherlock told her hastily. "Someone was paying them to do what they said but they died before they ever got the money."

"What?" Scarlett asked. "And why do I need to know this? I don't get it."

"You need to know," Sherlock said, looking her in the eye, "because it is Moriarty who is killing them."

"Moriarty?" Scarlett checked and he nodded. "But why?"

"Scarlett...look at the photos again," Sherlock said and the young woman complied, taking in their appearance and shaking her head;

"They...Sherlock they look like me..."

"Exactly," Sherlock said. "He's...he's doing it to mess with your head."

"What?" Scarlett snapped. "How do you know it is him?"

"Because I spoke with him this morning," Sherlock said and Scarlett searched his cool eyes and she shook her head;

"I knew you were not going to a case...you were different this morning...how long have you known?" she asked.

"Since last night," Sherlock responded. "I put two and two together and managed to get the answer."

"And why didn't you tell me you were off to see Moriarty?" Scarlett asked him.

"Because you would have worried," Sherlock whispered. "And I had to make sure it was him."

"Oh God," Scarlett buried her head into her hands;

"What now?" she asked Sherlock who shrugged;

"Devise a plan."

...

"You told her then?" John asked when Sherlock walked back in with Scarlett after he had made her go back to the office and pick up anything she needed before dragging her from the building reluctantly, Mary shouting after her, threatening she'd be sacked.

"Yes," Sherlock said, "I decided it be best she heard it from me."

Scarlett had rushed off into the bathroom, the back of her hand constantly going onto her eyes as he had brought her back home.

"Good choice," John advised and Sherlock nodded;

"I thought so," he said. "But then again if it was my choice then it would be."

"I'm surprised she can handle your cockiness," John whispered and Sherlock shrugged, hanging his coat and scarf up.

"Hmm."

...

"Scarlett," Sherlock called into the corridor, she had been gone for ten minutes in the bathroom and Sherlock had decided to go and make sure she was okay. But he found her in the bedroom, the door wide open and her body curled on the bed, shaking profusely as she held her phone in her hand.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked her as he knelt on the floor beside her, looking into her watery eyes.

"Look in my inbox," she handed him the phone and he looked. Quickly he placed it onto her bedside table and rested a hand onto her cheek.

"You can't let him get to you," he told her.

"He sent me a picture of a dead girl Sherlock...how can it not get to me?"

"Because if it gets to you then he'll manage in cracking you Scarlett," Sherlock said, his thumb slowly wiping away the tears on her pale skin.

"You're cold," Sherlock stated. "Would you like a drink or anything?"

"I'm coming," she said.

"You can stay here if you want?" Sherlock said but she began to stand up and she shook her head;

"I can move," she said and walked out into the living room, but before she got there, Sherlock stopped her in the hallway and he gently rested his hands onto her waist and she laid her head onto his chest as he did so. He truly didn't know what to say to her. All he could do was stand there and hold her tightly in the dark hallway, away from John's prying eyes.

"Sherlock," Scarlett whispered. "Thank you."

"What for?" Sherlock wondered.

"Just...just...thank you," she muttered.

...

Right! So, I have to say thank you to zenstarrflower, yeah, I read from my BlackBerry too and thank you for reviewing!

Also thank you to My Purple Skies for your reviews too, glad you liked my chapters and thank you for the review!

And then thank you to Cheeseball too, don't worry, for the sake of my own life I shall not kill Scarlett! Haha!

And then thank you to eruptingearth, thank you for giving up time to read the whole story three times, don't worry, I don't think you're obsessed!

Anyway, please do review!


	29. Chapter 29

"So was you genuinely flirting with her?" Scarlett asked Sherlock as she sat at the kitchen table that night she had been informed Moriarty was killing lookalikes of her.

"It's were," Sherlock commented and Scarlett raised a brow at him, peering over the top of her laptop screen as she did so;

"Excuse me?" she managed to say and Sherlock stopped writing down notes for a minute and looked at her;

"It's were you...not was you..." he told her and she simply just looked at him as she chuckled to herself and then shut her laptop down and yawned, lacing her fingers together and resting them on top of the black laptop as she rested her chin onto them and looked at Sherlock, peering over at him;

"So _were_ you flirting with her?" Scarlett asked and Sherlock went back to writing down things in a scrap notebook.

"With who?" Sherlock responded.

"The receptionist...at work..." Scarlett pushed him and he dropped his mouth slightly and his eyes began to twinkle whilst he still refused to hold her gaze.

"Did it look like flirting?" Sherlock pondered out loud and John simply began to eavesdrop as he peeled some potatoes at the sink and turned around to see the pair of them; Sherlock sat watching his work and Scarlett sat watching Sherlock.

"Well...you were laughing Sherlock...was it real or not?" Scarlett asked him and he managed to allow a small grin to escape his lips as he looked at her;

"Would you be jealous if I said it was flirting?" he asked her and she snorted loudly, allowing her lids to fall and her eyes to look onto the material of the table.

"No," she replied. "Well I mean...what did she have...really...just really nice hair...a nice wardrobe too...and she was extremely good looking, what with her small mouth and nose and really bright green eyes...not to mention the fact she had a really nice laugh too."

"She was an attractive girl," Sherlock pushed Scarlett, a small smile on his lips as he did so, intending to wind her up and managing rather well to do so.

"And you was laughing with her!" Scarlett finally snapped at him.

"It's were," he replied.

"Whatever," she responded, "was it fake?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied, "it was faked...very good though, wasn't it?"

"I knew it," Scarlett folded her arms across her chest. "You're never that happy."

"And we have established that you were jealous," Sherlock went back to working and Scarlett remained quiet.

"Is it any wonder?" Scarlett asked. "She was much better looking than me."

"But she was an extremely boring person to talk to. She managed to slip me her number when I dropped my wallet onto her desk," Sherlock pulled out a small piece of paper which surely did hold her number.

"Cow," Scarlett said when she took it from his hands. "And she knew you were there to see me...what kind of person does that?"

"Clearly," Sherlock drawled, "someone like her. And besides, she was trying much too hard to impress. What with the constant running her hands through her hair in an attempt to give it more body hence making it more attractive and there was also the batting of the eyelids...completely unnecessary if you were to ask me."

"I thought you never picked up on things like that," John stated, washing his hands before placing the potato bake into the oven which Scarlett had taught him to cook.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"The flirting and stuff women do to try and impress a bloke."

"I never said I didn't pick up on it," Sherlock replied, "just that I don't mention it or make anything of it unless I can use it to my advantage."

"That's just manipulative," Scarlett informed him with a raise of her eyebrow and Sherlock looked back at her;

"The whole world uses people to its advantage," he informed her. "For example; do you wonder why Mr High is always the one who takes you into conferences to make notes and bring in the coffee? Especially when their client is a male going through a bitter divorce. And why doesn't he use Mary?"

"Because she's an insufferable old woman?" Scarlett asked and Sherlock clicked his fingers;

"Exactly," he snapped. "He uses you to his advantage...young men will allow him to take their case when they see he has a very attractive secretary and one that is also compassionate. Not some frumpy menopausal woman."

"Well that's a shallow reason to give him their case," Scarlett said and Sherlock raised a brow and cocked his head;

"Some men are shallow," he informed her.

"I know," she sighed in agreement.

"So," Sherlock concluded, "as you can see, the whole world uses manipulation to get what they want. I imagine you used it on your brother a lot when you were younger?"

"Stop it," Scarlett said, picking up her laptop and moving off down the hallway.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Reading me," she called back.

"You got off on that, didn't you?" John asked when Scarlett had left for a few moments and he smirked smugly.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Seeing her getting all het up because you flirted with someone else...even if you only did it for your own advantage..." John said and Sherlock snorted simply.

"It was certainly..." Sherlock's lips twitched, "interesting."

"I am shocked that she has stuck with you," John shook his head, beginning to set the table whilst Sherlock moved up onto the bar stool and placed his work there and continued working.

"She has no choice," Sherlock replied grimly as Scarlett came back into the kitchen, suddenly slamming her phone down on top of Sherlock's work, her eyes looking into his as he felt her hand suddenly go into his which was dangling by his side.

"You were sent another one?" he asked her and she nodded.

"About five minutes ago," she whispered and Sherlock looked down onto the phone whilst Scarlett simply stopped the circulation of his hand.

"That's certainly ghastly," Sherlock said and switched the picture off and looked at the screensaver of Scarlett and her brother before he looked back into her eyes again and nodded.

"I'm getting Lestrade involved," he decided, "the more people working on this then the better."

"You said not to involve Lestrade," John retorted and Sherlock shook his head, turning around slightly on the bar stool.

"But," Sherlock said, "that was when her life was in the balance...and he forbade it..."

"And you think they'll help?" John asked.

"I think it is worth a try," Sherlock said. "Lestrade knows of these cases anyway."

"Sherlock," Scarlett's eyes suddenly went wide and Sherlock followed her gaze and he turned around.

"Get back!" Sherlock shouted and he jumped from the bar stool, looking at the man he had met before. The Golem.

"Holy-" before Scarlett had a chance to say anything more, she saw the man come running at Sherlock, his tallness giving him the advantage as he hit Sherlock in the stomach quickly and managed to swipe John out with a nudge of his elbow, pushing him to the floor whilst he managed to push Sherlock onto the table, grabbing him by by the throat, his hands going over his mouth.

"Scarlett...go..." Sherlock croaked out whilst the young woman could do nothing but look on in horror as John tried to get the tall man from Sherlock. Sherlock made a move and with haste he managed to escape from the Golem's grip and slide of the table, kicking the tall man in the back as he fell onto the table and Scarlett screamed in horror as she backed away from him down the hallway.

"Go now!" Sherlock commanded her as they took the fight into the living room and John managed to avoid a punch as Sherlock kicked the man in the kneecap. Scarlett picked her phone up and began to hastily dial for 999, but as she did, she suddenly felt it being smacked from her hand and she saw the tall man stood above her, his hand suddenly going onto her mouth as his arm wrapped around her waist and he moved over into the hallway. Scarlett felt her breathing deepen and her head going woozy as she kicked away from him and he moved down the steps, but before he could take the third step down, Sherlock was back, his hand raised as he grabbed onto Scarlett's free hand and managed to hit the Golem in the face, losing his focus for a moment and allowing Sherlock to haul Scarlett back to him and then drag her into the living room where John was on the floor, blacked out.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock checked and Scarlett's eyes looked at his face and nodded before he turned back and looked at the Golem who was slowly approaching again. With haste, Sherlock jumped up and down, ready for a fight, pushing Scarlett back into the kitchen.

"Go and jump out the window!" he yelled at her and she widened her eyes;

"Are you serious?" she snapped.

"Yes!" Sherlock snapped as he jumped onto his coffee table and avoided the Golem. "The bin will break your fall!"

And so Scarlett ran off down the hallway and into Sherlock and hers room, but she had different ideas. As she searched Sherlock's room she managed to find the object she was looking for hidden under his pillow. She ran back out the room and into the living space where Sherlock was being pushed down onto his desk by the Golem who had his hand covering Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock looked over as he began to shake violently and his eyes met with Scarlett's as he silently urged her on. She caught his eye and raised the object in her hands, pointing it straight at the Golem.

"Let him go!" she demanded, her hands shaking as she held the gun at eye level and the Golem looked at her, but he still didn't release his hand from Sherlock's face.

"Oh God..." Scarlett continued to shake as she switched safety mode off and her shaking finger pressed down on the trigger. Three times, to be precise.

...

"Well she did manage to shoot him," John told Sherlock five and a half later as Sherlock looked at the two bullet holes on his desk which had managed to just avoid him whilst he had laid there being suffocated to death. Sherlock and John stood in the doorway of the living room and watched on whilst Scarlett was knelt on the floor, her hands ferociously scrubbing away at the blood stain near Sherlock's desk. Her eyes were focused deeply on it as she continued scrubbing as hard as she could with soapy water.

"And nearly me," Sherlock whispered back. "She was shaking like a leaf."

"And you blame her?" John asked and Sherlock said nothing to John who just sighed once and raised his brow;

"And Moriarty sent him, didn't he?" John checked.

"Of course," Sherlock said, "and he almost did a bloody good job once again."

"Almost," John mused, "being the key word."

"Apparently so," Sherlock drawled and left John to stand in the doorway whilst he went to kneel beside Scarlett who still continued at the task in hand.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked her in a murmur.

"Trying to get this stain out the rug," she whispered back and Sherlock shook his head;

"It's not going to come out that easily Scarlett," he gently spoke to her, knowing she was doing it because she was in shock. "You are in need of hydrogen peroxide if you want to make a good job of it."

"I'll manage," she assured him.

"Scarlett," Sherlock held onto one of her arms which was still scrubbing, "you're in shock."

"I'm fine," she snapped back at him and tried to shake his hand from her but he was persistent and allowed it to stay on her woollen clad arm.

"No," Sherlock defied her, "you're not."

"Yes I am," she retorted and Sherlock took her other arm, leaning over her body, causing her to drop the scrubber she was using as he drew her arms up, bending at the elbow and she looked at him finally before throwing her arms around his neck and awkwardly hauling herself to him. Sherlock slowly stood them up, not pushing her from him but instead walking to the sofa and sitting down. Scarlett automatically set herself down in his lap and he turned rigid slightly.

"I thought I'd lost you," Scarlett sobbed. "I thought I shot you...I thought...he'd gotten you..."

"Well..." Sherlock said slowly, "you almost did shoot me."

"I know," she baled. "And I didn't know what to do...I just killed...Sherlock I just killed someone...me..."

"You did what you had to do to survive," Sherlock assured her. "And you did well."

"I could have left you," Scarlett shook her head. "I couldn't have gone...not without you..."

"And for once," Sherlock allowed his hand to go around her waist and his other pushed her head into his chest as he gently kissed the top of her head out of impulse, "I'm glad you defied me."

...

Right, so I suppose I do have to say a big thank you to Jabberswife because I have spent some time just now, going through my previous chapters and correcting my grammar which wasn't as good as it could be. I know some of it may still not be absolutely perfect but I will go and have another look again, so thank you for pointing it out to me and making me work more, so hopefully it is a bit easier to read...anyway, may not be as many updates this weekend what with work and parties and just a busy summer social life! But please do leave me a review!


	30. Chapter 30

"Why," Scarlett began her complaint, "can he not send assassins who don't make a mess, hmm? Why does he have to send the ones that destroy everything in the flat and then make me be the one to clean up?"

"I don't think he takes that factor into consideration," Sherlock drawled at her and she simply huffed as she stopped dusting for a moment and looked at Sherlock who was laid on his sofa, three nicotine patches on his arm as his eyes remained firmly shut.

"Well he should," Scarlett replied. It was five a.m. in the morning and the pair of them had managed to gain around two hours sleep but neither could manage to fathom the idea of anymore than that.

"Hmm," Sherlock simply mused, allowing his fingers to idly move down to his shirt, undoing the next button along as he continued his silent thoughts.

"Sherlock," Scarlett stated his name but he still didn't turn to look at her and so she continued speaking, dusting the mantelpiece as she did so;

"The Golem...the one who came here tonight...don't you find it odd that he tried to kill both you and John? But then when it came to me he...well...he didn't...did he? If anything he was trying to drag me from the flat," Scarlett mused out loud.

"Clearly," Sherlock said lowly. "I think you know the answer to your own question and so it should not be in my place to inform you of why he came here tonight."

"So he did come here to kidnap me?" Scarlett checked. "And to kill you?"

"I am unsure on that matter," Sherlock pursed his lips. "Because if he had managed to succeed in killing me then Moriarty wouldn't have had true revenge as I would be dead and blatantly unable to suffer from anything."

"This is so messed up," Scarlett complained and Sherlock simply remained silent, not being able to argue with her on that statement.

"Why are you two up so early?" John's voice suddenly entered the room and he looked at the pair of them who were still in their pyjamas and wide awake.

"I don't like to sleep when working a case," Sherlock informed him. "I thought you knew that, but I shan't berate you as it sounds like a lack of sleep has clouded your memory. Whilst Scarlett has OCD when it comes to cleaning and she can't leave a mess for longer than eight hours I would say."

"Or," Scarlett replied, "it could be to do with the fact someone broke in and I'm too worried to sleep and cleaning helps take my mind of it?"

"I won't disagree with that belief either," Sherlock responded and tore off a nicotine patch, allowing it to fall to the floor before reaching for another one and placing it onto his arm. Scarlett narrowed her eyes at the meditating figure that could sense her gaze but did not respond by movement.

"I'll pick it up later if you're standing and staring there is going to lead into you yelling at me," Sherlock promised her and she simply nodded once and turned to go back to her cleaning.

"So," John fell into an armchair, pinching the bridge of his nose and blinking several times in a feeble attempt to make himself more alert in the early morning, "what's the plan?"

"I am devising one," Sherlock said in a whisper.

"So you don't have one?" John clarified and Sherlock managed to roll his shut eyes.

"Hence why I am devising one," he snapped at John and then his eyes suddenly flew open and he looked at the ceiling in awe before sitting up, ripping all the patches from his arm and simply looking at Scarlett who had her back turned to him.

"What is it?" John asked, knowing that his sudden act of movement had caused him to think of something.

"It's dangerous," Sherlock said in a low drawl which managed to catch Scarlett's attention;

"Aren't most of your plans?" she wondered and Sherlock smirked.

"Normally," he admitted. "But I imagine if we keep Lestrade informed then he can help us."

"Can you just tell us the plan?" John pushed Sherlock, unable to understand his mumblings and grumblings.

"It mainly involves Scarlett going out and doing what she does best," Sherlock said with a devilish smile on his lips.

"Which is?" John asked.

"Partying." Scarlett said simply and looked at Sherlock with a deadly glare "you do know I am not a complete wild party animal? I like to sit in and watch TV as much as anyone else."

"Uh," Sherlock complained. "How typically boring of you."

"And the plan?" John said and Scarlett simply looked at Sherlock in mutual understanding.

"You want to use me as bait?" she asked and Sherlock remained silent for a moment;

"Well you would be safe," he promised her. "Of course John and I couldn't be there because then Moriarty would know something was definitely wrong."

"Have you ever set foot in a nightclub?" John wondered out loud and Sherlock looked to his friend;

"In my university days," he responded. "I don't particularly feel anything positive for them, what with all the sweating bodies, drunken people trying to get off with each other..." he shuddered slightly, "No. Not my area."

"So you want me to go into a nightclub," Scarlett clarified, "and wait for him to show?"

"Moriarty won't show but one of his men will," Sherlock replied. "Why settle for harming lookalikes of you when the real thing would be dangled under his nose? He'd make a move and try and get you to go from the club...in the end you would agree but we'd keep a close eye on you and you would lead us straight to Moriarty himself."

"And then Lestrade would arrest him?" Scarlett checked and Sherlock nodded;

"Why of course," he replied. "But there would be some risk involved."

"It's not one of your plans if there isn't some of that element mixed in," John said sarcastically and Scarlett looked out the window onto Baker Street, the dark morning still upon them before she looked back to Sherlock.

"Is it the only way to stop him?" Scarlett asked. "To stop him from harming others like me?"

"I believe so," Sherlock replied. "He won't stop until he has managed to kill you and we both know that isn't going to happen. He needs to see you Scarlett; that is the only way we can stop him. If you keep hiding away he will keep killing."

"And there would be other people there?" Scarlett asked. "I wouldn't be alone?"

"We shall have to speak with Lestrade first," Sherlock jumped onto his coffee table and then back down from it. "But I should imagine he would give you full protection if he agreed to it and if we're being honest, he normally goes along with all my plans."

"Then I'll do it," Scarlett whispered, hugging herself as if she had turned cold.

"Don't worry," Sherlock said, resting a hand awkwardly onto her shoulder. "The chances of anything happening are rather slim I imagine."

"Don't give me statistics," Scarlett pleaded, "they'll only mess with my head."

"You will be okay Scarlett," Sherlock said, placing a finger under her chin and making her look him in the eye, "even if John and I aren't there."

"But you'll be close?" she checked and Sherlock grinned a little and nodded at her;

"I'll be close," he promised.

...

So...we have a plan to track Moriarty down...but will it work? That is the main question I imagine. Well I am afraid I am going to have to leave you hanging in suspense for a while! Sorry, but I am busy all today and tomorrow, but, there may be an update tomorrow if I manage to get the afternoon shift at work so keep checking! Then that is when the plan will be put into action! Thank you once again to anyone reading and to anyone who leaves a review! Cheeseball you make me laugh! And I will get the cinema in sometime! Sherlock would love it! Please Review!


	31. Chapter 31

"And you're sure this is going to work?" Lestrade asked as he and Donovan stood in Sherlock's living room. The two of them were waiting with the equipment needed to make sure Scarlett was kept safe. The young woman was in the bedroom, changing into something more suitable than her jogging pants and vest top.

"If it goes to plan then I fail to see a reason why it would fail," Sherlock murmured, pacing around the living room, his hands running through his hair in slight worry.

"And you're willing to do this?" Donovan asked, her eyebrows raised at Sherlock whilst John looked over to her. "You're willing to allow your own girlfriend to go and risk being killed by some nutcase?"

"Scarlett has a mind of her own," Sherlock spoke lowly, looking over at Donovan with narrowed eyes as he did so. "I suggested it. She agreed to it."

"And you're not even going to stop her?" Donovan asked. "She is risking her life."

"Donovan!" Lestrade snapped. "You're not here to ask questions."

And then she went silent whilst Scarlett began to walk down the corridor. Sherlock looked at her as she nervously avoided everyone's eye contact and looked down onto the floor as she felt the four of them staring at her.

"Right," Lestrade took the lead. "For some absurd reason I have agreed to Sherlock's mad plan but if there is even a whiff of trouble or danger then I'm sending my men in."

"You're going to be wired," Lestrade continued. "And if you even begin to feel uncomfortable then you just tell us. Okay?"

"Okay," Scarlett agreed and Sherlock jumped over his coffee table and looked at Lestrade;

"You're going to wire her?" he checked. "And you think Moriarty won't notice?"

"I told you the freak doesn't care for her safety," Donovan murmured under her breath but Sherlock ignored her completely.

"He won't notice Sherlock," Lestrade rolled his eyes. "And I am not compromising her safety all because you're worried he will see a small black object in her ear which is barely recognisable."

"I don't like it," Sherlock whispered and Lestrade simply shook his head;

"I don't care," he said. "This may have been your idea but it is my responsibility to make sure she doesn't get hurt."

"Fine," Sherlock huffed, "do it if you feel you must."

"Oh I must," Lestrade said and he walked over to Scarlett with the wiring device and helped her into it slowly and steadily, noting the young woman was shaking as she placed the device into her ear and she couldn't hold eye contact with anyone in the room.

"So the plan is," Sherlock began in a drawl, "Lestrade and Sally leave first in about five moments and then we stay put here for an hour or so. After that time has passed then Scarlett walks out the flat, yelling at me...showing whoever Moriarty has watching our home that we've had an argument."

"She ends up at the Light and then we begin to put the plan into action?" Lestrade concluded and Sherlock clicked his fingers and nodded forcefully;

"Exactly."

...

"You're fidgeting," Sherlock commented as Scarlett sat in the green armchair, her arms curled around her and her chin resting on her knees. Her short sequined black dress was the one which Sherlock had first met her in and she continued pulling it up and down her body as she tapped her foot with impatience. Sherlock was simply resting on his sofa, laid on his back with nicotine patches on his right arm.

"Is it any wonder I am a little on edge?" Scarlett asked him, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time in the ten minutes which had passed.

"It will be fine," Sherlock said slowly. "Lestrade has men in the club who are watching and security has been tightened. John and I shall be outside the club with Lestrade and Donovan in the mobile booth listening to everything which you say."

"Okay," Scarlett simply whispered.

"Do you want anything to eat Scarlett?" John asked the girl and she shook her head, running a hand through her blonde curls as she did so.

"No thank you," she said simply. "I don't think I can stomach anything."

"I thought you were supposed to eat before you went out drinking in clubs?" John said and Sherlock simply opened his eyes and rolled them as his friend spoke the statement.

"She's not going to be drinking heavily John," Sherlock stated. "We don't want her to be an easy target for Moriarty and if she is completely intoxicated then she would be."

The rest of the hour was spent in silence until Sherlock jumped up actively, startling Scarlett from her daydreaming as he did so. John also stood up and began to shrug into his jacket; none of them spoke for there was no reason for words. Scarlett pulled her black heels onto her feet before pulling her sequined dress down and looking at Sherlock.

"How do I look?" she asked him and he took in her appearance.

"You...well...you look different," Sherlock replied, not sure how to tell her that he didn't like the dress on her as it was far too short and he knew people would obviously be leering at her. He didn't want that for her. And, if he was being honest, he didn't want anyone else to look her way. His protectiveness over her was beginning to worry him slightly.

"Don't you want a jacket?" John asked her and she shook her head;

"I don't tend to wear them when going to clubs," she said, "they become an inconvenience once I'm inside."

"Right then," Sherlock managed to pull his gloves onto his hands, "let's put this plan into action."

Sherlock rushed down the steps of 221B Baker Street as Scarlett slowly followed him, her black clutch bag in her hands before she remained stood on the first step. Sherlock still managed to equal her with his height even though she was on a step and was in heels.

"Sherlock," she whispered, searching his eyes. "I'm scared."

"You'll be fine," Sherlock assured her. "The chances of this going wrong are very slim. Lestrade, John and I will be there for you and there are armed men in the club if anything goes wrong."

"If...Sherlock...if something does go wrong..." Scarlett began to panic but Sherlock shook his head, grabbing her hand and pulling her down from the last step until she was slightly smaller than him.

"It won't," he said. "My plans always succeed."

"But if it does-"she began to worry again but Sherlock rested a leather clad finger onto her lips and silenced her, shaking his head as he did so;

"It won't," he promised again, "just...relax..."

"That's a bit hard to do," Scarlett whispered as Sherlock managed to somehow back her up against the wall, almost in an unconscious state. She felt her back gently push against it and her hands wrapped themselves around Sherlock's skinny coated arms and he allowed his to rest onto her waist as he looked into her blue eyes.

"You'll be fine," he once again assured her. "You have to remain calm and know that you're safe."

"Sherlock...I...I really like you...and...just thank you...for everything," Scarlett said and Sherlock grinned at her with his normal air of confidence;

"Was that an attempt at manipulation?" he asked her.

"Pardon?"

"By saying that you like me you want me to openly admit to feeling the same and hence you believe it may lead to something," Sherlock mused and Scarlett rolled her eyes.

"Do you want me to ask?" Scarlett wondered and Sherlock shook his head;

"It won't be necessary," he said and finally allowed himself to gently kiss her again before he broke his mouth from hers and kissed her gently on the forehead.

"I suppose we should do this," Scarlett said and stood tall, looking at Sherlock before letting him go and moving over to the door, her hand on the lock.

"Do you think you can manage to be angry with me?" he asked her and she smirked lightly;

"I think I shall be fine," she assured him.

"Good luck," Sherlock said to her. "But because I came up with the plan I am sure you won't be in need of it."

Scarlett simply said nothing and opened the door wide, pushing it open and walking out of it, stomping her feet as she twirled and looked at Sherlock who was walking to the door, but he remained standing in the doorway;

"You're being completely unreasonable!" He put on his pretence. "Do you really think that you're safe out there on your own?"

"I am not giving up a life all because some nutcase is after me!" Scarlett yelled at him. "And being with you twenty four seven is making me mad!"

"Well it isn't exactly a picnic living with your constant cleaning and nagging!" Sherlock shouted back to her as he watched her hail a cab.

"You're just an arsehole Sherlock Holmes!" Scarlett shouted.

"If you even think about climbing into that taxi then that will be the end of you Scarlett!" he warned her.

"Then it looks like it is the end for me," she said and climbed into the cab whilst Sherlock slammed the door to 221B Baker Street, realising that the plan had now been put into action.

...

So I have managed to get the afternoon shift at work and so here is another update! Thank you to CaptainCrash and when I get the time I promise I shall read your story and thank you for thinking I was an inspiration! And thank you for reading and reviewing! Also thank you to Jabberswife, I know there is still some grammar errors but thanks for taking the time to review! And thank you to eruptingearth like normal for reviewing, glad you still like the plots which are happening! And thank you to anyone reading and please do leave a review!


	32. Chapter 32

"She's gone into the club," Lestrade informed Sherlock and John when they walked into the booth an hour after Scarlett had left the flat. Donovan was sat next to Lestrade in the booth and Sherlock took the empty seat next to him whilst John remained hanging around behind him. Sherlock hastily picked up the headphones and placed them onto his ears, flattening his curly black hair as he did so.

"A vodka and coke please," he heard her voice ring out and he noted something down on paper and passed it to Lestrade who nodded back at him, indicating that he could speak into the mouthpiece and she would hear him, along with Lestrade and Donovan.

"Vodka and coke?" he asked her. "I didn't think you were going to drink alcoholic beverages this evening."

"Oh hey," Scarlett said, pretending to speak to a male who was sat on the bar stool next to her, but intending for Sherlock to be the one she was holding the conversation with.

"So have you seen anything which looks odd whilst you have been in there?" Sherlock asked her.

"It's a bit boring in here tonight, isn't it?" Scarlett asked the man sat opposite her and Sherlock heard him chuckle at her and ask her to dance with him.

"Let me guess," Sherlock drawled, watching on the cameras in the booth as Scarlett and this random man took to the floor and they began to move in time to the music, "he's clearly an accountant, his fingernails look blunt which means he types on calculators for a long time which means he is good with numbers. There is also the fact that he is wearing a very expensive suit and cufflinks which shows a good paying job. He has numbers written on the back of his hand which need multiplying and the amount would equal someone's deduction of VAT."

"You're amazing!" Scarlett called, motioning to the man but meaning for Sherlock to be the one to hear.

"Oh I know," he said cockily to her and Donovan rolled her eyes.

"I don't see how she can stand you," she sneered. "What with your self-importance taking priority over everyone else."

"Donovan!" Lestrade snapped. "Now is not the time to be arguing when Miss Jenson can hear us on the other end and she needs to be able to speak to us at all times. Your squabbling stops that."

"Exactly Donovan," Sherlock smirked and looked back onto the screen as he did so, noticing a tall blonde man who was stood on the balcony of the club, right next door to an armed officer who was looking over and drinking a glass of water.

"The blonde one," Sherlock suddenly stood up and pointed to him on the screen. "He's not ours, is he?"

"No," Lestrade agreed with him. "He's not."

"Scarlett," Sherlock said deeply into the mouthpiece, "there is a man on the balcony to your left; he is tall and blonde, wearing a black suit. Stood alone and looking onto the floor. He's working for Moriarty."

"I have to go," Scarlett excused herself, pretending to be messing with her earring whilst she actually pushed her wire further into her ear and walked into the bathroom.

"I've seen him," she whispered, her mouth barely opened as she informed them and moved into the bathroom. Slowly, she walked over to the mirror and ran the tap, wetting her hands and then slowly moving the cold water onto her face as she did so, cooling herself down.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked her. "You need to be out there?" he snapped, seeing she had moved from the club's nightlife into the quiet bathroom where she thought she was safe.

"Just a moment," she snapped quickly. "I'm a bit nervous and need time to calm down."

"You need to be going back out there Scarlett," he instructed her. "He will start to become impatient and you don't want to know what happens when these people become impatience."

"Calm down Sherlock," Scarlett said, using tissue to dry her face and then move from the bathroom, her glass in her hand as she totted off back to the dance floor, looking slightly drunk as a pretence and she began to dance.

"Okay," Sherlock said, "he's on the way down now."

Scarlett didn't look at the man as he moved over to where she was stood and dancing, sipping on her vodka and coke as she moved around with extreme ease, fitting into the crowd easily. Sherlock continued to look on intently as the blonde moved through the crowd. Finally, he managed to get through the crowd, standing next to Scarlett he bent down to her ear slowly;

"Are you Scarlett Jenson?" he asked her and she turned around and stopped dancing as she looked at him.

"Who's asking?" she pondered and Sherlock nodded in agreement as she didn't give in to his questions.

"Just a friend," he shrugged. "So is it you?"

"It would seem so," she drawled lightly and he smirked, nodding and moving away. Sherlock stood up from the plush seat in the booth and looked on at the screen as he saw the blonde man climb back up the steps to the balcony, standing and looking over onto the floor.

"What's he doing?" Sherlock wondered.

"Buying time?" Lestrade suggested but Sherlock shook his head when he asked the question.

"No," he replied. "He wouldn't waste time when he knows that Scarlett could easily run away if she even senses a whiff of trouble."

"He's texting," John stated and Sherlock watched as his fingers moved around the BlackBerry.

"Sherlock," Scarlett's voice suddenly hissed and she continued her dancing. "He went...he didn't even ask me anything...just my name..."

Sherlock looked on as the man typed quickly and then deposited his phone into his pocket and moved to the exit. He left the club.

"Sherlock," Scarlett snapped quietly. "He's gone...he left..." she said, looking as the blonde man simply left the club. Sherlock didn't reply to her and instead he shouted;

"Everyone quiet!" he yelled. "Don't even talk or move or think!" he warned them and placed his hands either side of his head, his long fingers running through his black curly hair.

"Sherlock!" Scarlett suddenly yelled. "What the hell is this?"

But she was ignored again. Sherlock thought about what buttons he had typed on the keyboard as no one spoke apart from Scarlett who was yelling down the phone.

"Sherlock!" she snapped again and Sherlock realised what the man had text on his phone. _Blow the building_.

"Scarlett...you need to get out of the club now," Sherlock said and Scarlett failed to get the message which was fuzzy in her ear.

"What?" she asked him, pushing it further into her ear. "I can't hear you."

"I said," Sherlock said quickly, "get out the club!"

"Sherlock I can't hear you...what did you sa-"

And then there was the explosion.

...

Sorry it is only a short chapter but I am slightly tired after partying a little too much last night. But please do review and tell me what you think will happen!


	33. Chapter 33

Time seemed to go slowly straight after that moment. Sherlock's eyes opened wide as he felt the booth shake, the impact of the explosion knocking all of them to the side, causing them to lean on things for support. Sherlock removed his headset and laid it onto the side, his hands shaking slightly as the video surveillance was fuzzy. Lestrade bowed his head into his hands and Donovan simply went silent which made a complete and utter change for her. John rested his hand onto Sherlock's shoulder and the taller one did not shake it off as he shook his head to himself, unable to think of anything to say. Eventually, he mustered up the strength to cough once and look at Lestrade;

"You need to call the fire brigade," he told the man and he and John left the booth and moved out onto the dark scene of the crumbling nightclub. Bricks and stones were strewn around and there were pieces of paper floating about also. Glass was smashed and bottles were visible whilst the club next door to it had lost some of its wall and the kebab shop on the other side had also been blown into oblivion. Sherlock remained stood across the street; his eyes darted around the injured people who had managed to survive the blast. But there was no Scarlett. No girl in a short ripped black dress who was covered in dust, her long hair would have been matted to her face and her makeup clearly runny. But she wasn't there.

"She might have got out," John whispered to Sherlock whilst Lestrade came up from behind them and muttered a prayer under his breath, unable to think about the numbers of dead inside.

"The search and rescue team are on their way too," Sally called from the booth and Lestrade nodded;

"I want you to go back and see the last images of the tape," he instructed her. "I want to know if any of my men were in there and also where Miss Jenson was at the last moment….that way…we know…"

"The last time I checked the running video," Sherlock said, "she was at the south of the building…before I began to think about what he had text…she was near the bar on the dance floor."

"Where are you going?" Lestrade asked him as Sherlock took off at a run, jumping over the pieces of rubble, moving past some who had managed to crawl from under it. He took the uneven steps without thinking of tripping, marking out where the bar would have been and dropping to his knees, picking up rubble and beginning to throw it to one side. John dropped beside Sherlock and rested a hand gently onto his arm, trying to get him to stop.

"Sherlock," he whispered, "people are on their way and they can do this much quicker than you."

"Well," Sherlock hissed, "I can make a start and when they decide to grace us with their presence then I shall allow them to continue my work."

"She might not be under there Sherlock," John said. "She could have moved…none of us were watching that screen when the building blew…we didn't see where she was."

"There's a chance she could be here though," Sherlock said. "She can hold on if she managed to hide under some object…there's a chance..."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade suddenly yelled, running up to the man with some people in uniform. "You want to come and see this."

"I'd much rather stay here and search if that's okay with you," Sherlock responded.

"There are people here who are trained to do that," Lestrade responded quickly. "You need to come with me. Now."

"Why?" Sherlock asked. The only thing in that club he cared for was trapped under mountains of rubble.

"Because Scarlett was trying to tell us something," Lestrade snapped at him. "On the screen…but we were all ignoring her image because we were listening to you..."

"What is it?" Sherlock jumped up. "Did she get out?"

"No," Lestrade spoke honestly. "But…there's a small chance she may have. Now come with me." And that was enough for Sherlock to take an order for once in his life. Quickly and with haste, he ran back to the booth with Lestrade and John slightly behind, his grey coat billowing behind him and his scarf slowly coming loose from his neck.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked Donovan who was sat on a leather chair. The woman handed him a set of earphones and he took a chair, moving it closer to hers, able to stand her proximity for once in his life.

"Watch," Sally commanded him and she began to play the tape and the sound of music came over them;

"Sherlock…he's gone…he left…" Scarlett's soft voice spoke into his ear and he watched how she went into her bag on the screen and began to search for something. But when she came back out of her bag she brought with her a small card.

"Everyone quiet!" Sherlock's stern voice suddenly shouted into his ear. "Don't even talk or move or think!"

Sherlock's eyes went back onto the screen where he noted Scarlett looking away at the blonde man and then back into the nightclub where she looked onto the card she had been given and then she snapped;

"Sherlock!" her tone was brash. "What the hell is this?" and she motioned to the card in her hand. But she received no answer. Sherlock watched as Scarlett slowly began to move her way from the dance floor, he tried not to lose her black and white image in the crowd as she pushed past and out into open space where she then yelled his name again.

"Scarlett…you need to get out of the club now," he demanded and he watched as she continued walking out the open space, bumping into a couple and then apologising with her hand profusely.

"What?" she wondered in his ear. "I can't hear you."

"I said," Sherlock replied, "get out the club!"

But then her image on the screen went blank as she continued moving to the exit. She was so close but she disappeared. The image of her on the screen went and the only thing which Sherlock heard was;

"Sherlock I can't hear you…what did you sa-"

"She was close to the exit," Lestrade told Sherlock who removed the headphones and backed his chair away from Sally and then looked up to Lestrade;

"None of us even saw her move from the floor and we didn't notice the card…we weren't keeping watch on her," Sherlock said slowly. "I was too busy shouting and thinking in my own little world."

"So," John raised a hand, "she could have gotten out?"

"The cameras went dead seven seconds before the explosion," Lestrade said. "And Scarlett's wire went down a moment before the explosion. That left her with about eight seconds to get to the door and out onto the street."

"And from where she was when the cameras went down," Sherlock said, "I imagine it would have taken about nine seconds at the pace she was going in those heels."

"I found something Boss," Sally suddenly said and all eyes turned onto the screen as they saw Scarlett speaking with the blonde man quickly and quietly. But they never noticed him sneakily open her clutch bag and drop a card into it. And neither did Scarlett from the looks on her face.

"Zoom in on the card," Lestrade ordered her and Sally complied, using the zoom feature on the camera as they managed to glimpse the card which was being deposited into Scarlett's bag. Donovan quickly paused the tape and they looked onto the scrawled writing.

"221B Baker Street," Lestrade spoke. "That's where you live."

"Hmm," Sherlock agreed, finally knowing the plan which Moriarty had devised for himself.

"How did he know she was going to be in that club?" Lestrade wondered and Sherlock shrugged simply;

"He has moles in the police I believe," Sherlock said. "He knows a lot more than we think."

And with that Sherlock swept from the booth, John close onto his trail as he left.

"He wanted her to meet him there, didn't he?" John checked with Sherlock. "He left our address to get her from the club and meet him at the flat."

"The bomb was a distraction," Sherlock agreed. "He gave her the message so she could get out just in time and leave us to worry about if she has been blown up hence keeping us here," Sherlock concluded looking out onto the rubble and John shook his head as they began to clear away the damage.

"But did she get out?" John asked and Sherlock shrugged in honesty, his eyes emotionless as he looked at the entrance part of the club being cleared. The place where she should have been.

"She bumped into people and spent time yelling at me," Sherlock replied. "There's no telling."

"So what do we do?"

"Wait here," Sherlock said. "If she made it back to Baker Street then Moriarty would have called. You know how he likes to tease."

"But if she got out why wouldn't she just come to us and tell us?" John continued to interrogation and Sherlock shook his head;

"She wouldn't have had a chance," Sherlock replied. "My guess is the blonde would have been lurking outside…ready to just grab her."

"And we aren't telling Lestrade any of this because…?" John asked.

"Because he'll go rushing to the flat and if she was there then she'd be dead if he did so," Sherlock replied honestly. "We wait here until I know for certain her body isn't there."

Three hours later

"They can't find her body," Lestrade informed Sherlock and John who had been stood across the road for all that time. "But they think that the blast could…well…have blown her to bits."

"She's alive." Sherlock stated. "She has to be."

"Didn't you hear me?" Lestrade replied. "She could have been blown up. There is no body Sherlock. We don't know."

"I do," Sherlock said cockily. "She got out of there."

"And how are you so sure?"

"Because I am," Sherlock replied and walked away from the crime scene, John and Lestrade on his coat end.

"There's no evidence to suggest she managed to get out," Lestrade spoke once again.

"He has a point Sherlock," John said. "You can't get your hopes up."

Suddenly, Sherlock's phone began to ring once again and he slowly looked at the number, allowing a grin to enter his face. Scarlett was phoning him. But he knew it wouldn't be her. He knew who it would be with every fibre in his body. As he hailed a cab he looked at John and Lestrade;

"The game is-once again-on," he spoke quickly and then disappeared down the road with John.

…..

A/N: So…is she alive or isn't she? Is Moriarty just playing with Sherlock by taking her cell from Baker Street? Time shall tell my faithful readers. Sherlock seems pretty sure she's alive…and when is he normally wrong, eh? Anyway, big thank you to all the reviews last night! I sensed your eagerness for another chapter and so voila! Enjoy!


	34. Chapter 34

"This is very Sherlock," a voice drawled as the man wandered around 221B Baker Street. He moved along the kitchen, his bare hand scraping along the kitchen table as he did so, his eyes darting around and taking in the surroundings. Slowly, he moved down the hallway and pushed open the door to Sherlock's bedroom. Walking in, he took in some of the messy aspects of the room and some of the clean ones.

"This," he pointed around the room, "definitely isn't Sherlock."

He slowly picked up the shoe which was on the floor and balanced it on his fingertip before throwing it onto the bed and walking around the room. He then left the bedroom and sauntered back into the kitchen and looked into the living room where three of his men stood, looking around with small guns in their hands as they peered through the curtains onto the road.

"Any sign?" Moriarty asked one of his men.

"It's silent," he responded and Moriarty sighed, looking at the blonde figure that was sat in the green armchair. He winked at her slowly and twirled the gun in his hand;

"There is always a chance for you to get out of this," he informed her and noted how her jaw suddenly turned rigid and she gritted her teeth.

"I'm not doing it," she said forcefully and Moriarty chuckled;

"I could do with someone like you Scarlett," he whistled lowly and began to walk around the living room, pulling out a book and flicking through the pages, "and that way you'd also ensure that you'd survive."

"And betray Sherlock in the process?" Scarlett shook her head "I would never do that."

"Betray Sherlock?" Moriarty cocked a brow at her "you don't even know him all that well dear…do you?"

"I know enough," Scarlett replied.

"Life with him will never be easy Scarlett," Moriarty informed her, placing the book back and standing in the doorway to the kitchen as he looked at her.

"And joining you would make my life easier, would it?" she managed to ask, sarcasm laid in her voice.

"I could ensure it would be more normal," Moriarty spoke. "I'd only call upon your services when I am in need of them…and I do pay better than that law firm you work for."

"I'm not doing it," Scarlett told him for the zillionth time.

"Then you do realise that I have no choice but to kill you?"

"And I'm not betraying him," Scarlett remained defiant.

"Boss," one of the men spoke up as he peered from the window and looked as the cab drew up and Sherlock and John climbed from it quickly.

"What is it?" Moriarty asked, settling himself on the arm of the green chair Scarlett was sat on, his hand slowly running down her curly blonde hair as she turned stiff and shivered.

"We have company," he told his boss and then the three men took to the corners of the room, waiting with intent as they heard the door slam quickly and then footsteps take to the steps. Sherlock stood in the doorway and looked on as he saw the blonde haired girl in his armchair, her hair matted and her clothes ruined. Ash covered her body and she had developed a bruise on her cheek.

"Well," Sherlock said lowly, "you look a mess."

"Such a harsh greeting Sherlock," Moriarty was the one to respond, his fingers squeezing Scarlett's chin as he made her look up at him and then look at Sherlock.

"I was being honest," Sherlock responded, noting the three men and then strolling into the living room, settling himself onto his sofa, crossing his legs whilst John remained in the doorway.

"And honesty is the best policy, right Sherlock?" Moriarty chuckled, standing up and leaning against the fireplace.

"A little lie sometimes doesn't hurt," Sherlock shrugged. "It was a very clever plan you devised…give Scarlett reason to leave the club and then blow it just as she did so…leaving us all to wonder if she was dead or not."

"As you know," Moriarty said deeply, "I'm an extremely clever man."

"There's no denying that," Sherlock replied. "So why are you here again?"

"I do have a job to finish off," Moriarty said, once again he began to twirl the gun in his hands.

"Oh I am aware," Sherlock agreed. "But do you think you're going to get away with it? The police should be on their way any time soon. Lestrade knows you dropped the card into Scarlett's bag."

"They won't catch me," Moriarty spoke with confidence, "because this time…I plan to kill all three of you."

"Well that is a change in plan," Sherlock whispered lightly. "You now want all of us dead? Why the sudden change in heart?"

"I have decided Sherlock," Moriarty spoke clearly, "that you and your little lapdog here will always give me trouble regardless of what happens to her."

"And you have only just deduced that, have you?" Sherlock ironically spoke to him.

"No need for sarcasm," Moriarty scolded him, "it is the lowest form of wit."

"Then call me shallow," Sherlock replied.

"There is a way that little Scarlett here," he motioned to her, "can survive…but she turned the offer down."

"And what would that be?" John was the one to ask, eager to know if there was a way out of this life and death situation.

"Joining me."

"She said no, I presume? Sherlock said.

"I am here," Scarlett snapped. "And of course I said no."

"She's willing to risk her life to prove her loyalty for you," Moriarty informed him. "Slightly stupid, if you ask me."

"Join him," Sherlock told her, his eyes narrowed into hers. "Just do it."

"No," Scarlett replied.

"Such a loyal lapdog…just like your other pet Sherlock," Moriarty chuckled. "However…I imagine you've gained more advantages from this one."

"Don't," Sherlock spoke dangerously, "talk about her like that."

"So it's okay for him to call me your pet?" John replied and Sherlock looked over to him and shrugged lightly, causing John to roll his eyes.

"Ah," Moriarty suddenly snapped. "I'm tired of waiting."

He clapped his hands and jumped around the living room, grabbing onto Scarlett's upper arm and pulling her from the chair. Sherlock also jumped up himself, moving over his coffee table and standing opposite her, his hand moving to her cheek and bending down to look into her eyes.

"Do it Scarlett," he said and wiped away some of the grime on her eyes as Moriarty allowed a devilish smirk to come over his features.

"Aim," Moriarty simply said and one of the men pointed his gun at John and then Moriarty laughed;

"Oh that is wonderful!" He smiled to himself. "Of course!"

"What?" Sherlock wondered, taking a few steps back and looking into his eyes as Moriarty took a gun from his henchman and forced it into Scarlett's hand.

"Oh," Sherlock said, suddenly realising.

"I'm glad you understand," Moriarty drawled lightly. "But this way is far more entertaining."

"What is it?" Scarlett asked Sherlock.

"You shoot me and he doesn't shoot you," Sherlock explained simply as Moriarty pressed a gun to Scarlett's temple.

"No," Scarlett said. "I can't…no…"

"I'm willing to spare your life here," Moriarty told her. "And he's dead anyway…regardless of if you kill him or not."

"Why?" Scarlett snapped, turning to look at him as his hand remained tight around her arm. "You wanted me dead so badly?"

"Not as much as I want you on my team," Moriarty replied. "You've proven you have the strength…and besides…I think living knowing you don't have _him _in your life is enough torture."

"I can't," Scarlett said and Moriarty once again forced her to look at Sherlock and he made his gun click as Scarlett's hands shook.

"Scarlett," Sherlock made her look at him with his soft voice. "Do it."

"I…Sherlock…I…can't…please…"

"Scarlett," Sherlock stood by his coffee table. "Save yourself."

"Please Sherlock…" she began to cry loudly and Moriarty pressed the gun harder into her flesh and her whole body began to shake.

"I don't blame you Scarlett," he promised her, his eyes never leaving hers. "Do it."

"I'm sorry…" Scarlett garbled. "I'm so sorry…"

"I know," Sherlock assured her. And then there was a bang.

….

A/N: So another cliff-hanger…I know…you all probably hate me for it! But I shall try and update later on in the day after I have been to work and earned some more money which I can blown on clothes…blah, blah, blah. Anyway, thank you to all the reviews which I received and Cheeseball- I give you permission if you so wish to do so! Haha! Please review!


	35. Chapter 35

The shot echoed the room and stunned everyone into silence. Moriarty remained holding onto Scarlett's arm, his eyes narrowed at Sherlock as he watched the consulting detective wince at the sound. Moriarty's henchmen remained stood where they were, glued to the spot, two were armed and one was not. They continued looking at Sherlock before John made his move. Quickly, he pulled out the gun from the back of his pocket which he always kept with him when being with Sherlock. He took aim and managed to shoot one of the cronies. Point blank in the head. Before the other one had time to react, John had made his move, shooting the last armed man.

Whilst John did this, Scarlett threw the gun which she had in her hands over to Sherlock whilst Moriarty just spun her around in his arms and heard Sherlock shoot the unarmed man down. Moriarty opened his mouth and then close it, just like a goldfish when he looked down into the girl's eyes which were twinkling and a smile was held on her face. As he dropped his gaze he saw her hand. It was clutching onto her stomach where a red substance was flowing out. Scarlett quickly dropped her hand to the side and balled it into a fist, and then, with all her might, she managed to fling a punch straight at Moriarty, hitting the shocked man on the side of the face.

"I told you," she hissed, "that I would never betray him."

"Scarlett," Sherlock gasped when he noted the blood on her and not on him. His pale features seemed to have paled even more than before as he saw the young woman drop to her knees, her hand on her blood covered stomach whilst John continued holding his gun, pointing it straight at Moriarty who held his to the side.

"Drop it." John ordered the man whose features were faltering him terribly. How had this happened? How had he-a criminal mastermind-managed to get into a position like he had done? Well he wasn't settling for it. Quickly, he raised his gun, but before he had a chance to shoot, Sherlock raised his at the man and shot him in the chest. Three times, to be precise. Moriarty stumbled backwards, his body crashing down onto the carpet, blood seeping out of him. Sherlock looked on for a moment before his eyes went back to the girl on the floor. She had one arm resting on the coffee table, supporting her weight whilst her other held onto her stomach tightly.

"Come here," Sherlock told her, dropping to his knees also, removing his coat as he did so and screwing it into a ball. Swiftly, he manoeuvred his body so that he had Scarlett resting against his lap, his arm going around her shoulders, holding her upright, pressing his coat onto her wound.

"John," Sherlock called his friend, "you're a doctor."

"Well observed," John couldn't hold his tongue as he phoned for an ambulance. "Just keep the coat on the wound...the more pressure than the better."

"Sherlock..." Scarlett began to croak out but the detective shook his head.

"You don't need to say anything...what you did..." he took a deep breath, "it was stupid Scarlett...so stupid...to shoot yourself...causing a distraction...what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking," she whispered, looking up into his eyes, "that the world can't lose its only consulting detective."

"So you risked your own life? It was terribly idiotic" Sherlock scolded her. "For me...ludicrous."

"I couldn't shoot you Sherlock," she whispered. "I just couldn't even bring myself to try and shoot you...this way...he's gone...he's stopped killing people...it's better."

"For who Scarlett?" Sherlock snapped at her, adjusting her in his arms as his eyes narrowed down at her, his hand increasing the pressure on his coat.

"Everyone Moriarty could have hurt," Scarlett spoke quietly. "Including you."

"This is by no way," Sherlock said, "better for anyone...especially not for me..."

"Sherlock," Scarlett whispered, "I...thank you...for everything you've done..."

"Shut up," he demanded her.

"Pardon?" she spoke back, wincing at sudden pain in her stomach whilst John observed the wound, muttering to himself about not hitting the nerve system and eighty percent chance of survival.

"You're doing that thing that people do," he informed her, "when they're in a life and death situation then they begin to start to say their goodbyes."

"Isn't that what normally happens?" her small voice asked, straining Sherlock's hearing as he felt the blood enter his hand.

"Yes," he agreed. "But you're not going to die so you can pack it in."

"It's cold Sherlock," she complained suddenly and Sherlock began to shrug out of his blazer jacket and he managed to drape it over her shoulders whilst John took to pressing on the wound, cursing the ambulance as he did so. Sherlock took both her bloody hands into his own and began to rub them together, getting her to warm up as he saw her eyes begin to close.

"Scarlett!" he roared loudly "don't you dare close your eyes!"

"But I'm tired," she yawned.

"I don't care," Sherlock gritted his teeth. "You can sleep later...sleeping is overrated anyway...how much of our life do we lose because of it?"

"I don't care," she grumbled like a little child.

"I do," Sherlock responded. "Now stay with me...understand?"

"Hmm," she managed to say. "That's the second time I've ruined your coat."

"It's getting to be a force of habit, isn't it?" Sherlock managed to drawl, looking up to the ceiling, his hand automatically going to his eyes as he wiped away a wet substance which had formed in the corner of it, near his nose. He looked back down onto Scarlett who was looking straight ahead, her eyes narrowed in concentration as Sherlock dropped his lips to her forehead;

"Don't worry," he whispered. "It's nothing a good dry clean won't fix."


	36. Chapter 36

"What are you doing?" John asked Sherlock when his friend suddenly told the cab to stop and he jumped out quickly, moving along the path as John told the cab to wait and he got out of the transport and followed the consulting detective.

"Sherlock!" He snapped. "What are you doing?"

"I have to quickly pick something up," Sherlock told John and he moved into a shop and John stood outside for a moment, just looking up at the building before moving in with his mouth agape.

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock declared himself to the woman behind the counter and she went to checking the book in front of her before nodding at Sherlock.

"I'll be back in a moment," she said and moved into the backroom. Sherlock rocked back and forth on his heels whilst John continued staring at him.

"Close your mouth John," Sherlock told his friend. "You'll catch flies."

"You...what are we doing here Sherlock?" John managed to ask and Sherlock simply just rolled his eyes at his friend in complete and utter annoyance.

"Well normally John," Sherlock began, "when people are in hospital they have people buy them things known as flowers. I thought you'd know that with you being a doctor."

"But this place Sherlock?" John gasped. "It is an actual expensive florist..."

"And I'm not allowed the buy flowers for Scarlett?" Sherlock wondered "Oh," he suddenly gasped "I see. You thought I would settle for some cheap flowers from a local garage."

"I never said that," John replied quickly.

"You didn't need to," Sherlock responded. "It was written all over your face."

"Mr Holmes," the woman said, handing Sherlock a large bouquet of flowers whilst Sherlock handed her the notes which were needed to pay for them.

"Thank you very much," Sherlock said and walked out from the shop which smelt of all types of flowers.

"How much did you just spend on flowers?" John asked Sherlock.

"And is that your concern?" Sherlock raised a brow as they once again sat in the back of the cab and began to drive again, the flowers settled in between them, the smell potent.

"Well no...they're...they're very nice Sherlock..." John commented.

"I was assured they were the best bunch in the shop," Sherlock drawled and John nodded;

"Yes," he replied. "Very nice indeed."

...

"Sherlock!" John snapped as his friend continued walking quickly off in one direction, ignoring the sign which John was looking at.

"What is it now?" Sherlock asked his friend.

"How do you know where you're going? You completely blanked the map," he informed him and Sherlock rolled his eye, taking a turn on the left and down another corridor.

"It's quite clear where Ward 12 is John," Sherlock informed him and John's brows knitted together.

"Is it?" he asked.

"Just stick with me," Sherlock said. "I'd hate to have and come fetch you if you were to get lost."

"Very funny," John whispered and they entered Ward 12. Beds were lining each side of the room, some were occupied and some were not. But the one which caught Sherlock's attention was the one right at the end of the room next to the window. The same bed he had been visiting every single day for the past week. He stood in the doorway for a moment and took in her appearance. She had a large purple bruise just under her eye, her blonde hair did look clean and back to its normal bounce, but she had lost weight. She looked thinner than normal, somehow gaunt. Sherlock had told her that not eating properly was unwise but she had insisted the food wasn't edible. And so, he had managed to sneak in a freshly made sandwich from the local sandwich shop. She was sat up in the bed, her legs crossed and a book in her hands as Sherlock walked down to her.

"You're still reading that thing?" he checked and she looked up at him, smiling widely as she saw the large bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"They for anyone nice?" Scarlett asked him and he looked at the flowers in his hands. Scarlett only just managed to see his head poking from the top of them as she smiled over at him.

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "I have a date later on...with that receptionist who slipped me her number."

"If the nurse wasn't watching I'd get out of bed and hit you Sherlock Holmes," Scarlett informed him and he just chuckled deeply, resting the flowers onto the table which went over the bed as Scarlett allowed a hand to delicately skim the tips of the roses and tulips, inhaling their scent.

"They're beautiful Sherlock," she said and he perched himself on the edge of her bed, removing his dry cleaned coat and scarf and resting them on the end of the blue duvet.

"I thought that people bought the ill flowers when they're in hospital," he informed her.

"I'm not ill Sherlock," Scarlett complained.

"Until you're discharged from hospital then you're ill," he responded. "And I bought you some food. You need to start eating properly."

"That's slightly hypocritical," John retorted. "Considering that you never eat correctly."

"I'm not ill," Sherlock replied through gritted teeth, setting the sandwich down onto the table next to the flowers as he did so.

"When are they planning on discharging you?" John asked, settling himself down into the chair as he asked her. She shrugged lightly as she picked up Sherlock's scarf and began playing with it in her hands.

"I have no idea," she replied. "They don't tell me anything...it's maddening...and so boring...the temptation to discharge myself is growing."

"You'll do no such thing," Sherlock said lowly, "you're going to wait until they tell you that you can leave."

"Yes boss," Scarlett mock saluted and Sherlock watched as she played with the scarf in her hands.

"It's for the best Scarlett," he promised her. "The doctors know what they're doing...well...some do..." he allowed a sly glance over at John who simply just chuckled to himself.

"Can you do me a favour then?" Scarlett asked Sherlock. "I need more clothes."

"You mean pyjamas?" Sherlock checked and she shrugged;

"Yes," she said "they're in my bottom bedside drawer."

"I shall bring them tomorrow," Sherlock said and he looked at the clock;

"Is that the time?" He drawled. "I could do with a coffee John."

"I'm on it," John said, recognising the hint that Sherlock wanted to talk to her alone.

Scarlett and Sherlock watched as John left and then Sherlock allowed himself to grasp onto one of her hands, only lightly, not wanting to damage her when he felt she was in such a fragile state.

"They'd best let you out soon," Sherlock informed her. "I'm going mad in that flat."

"No one to cook your tea?" Scarlett teased him and he smirked to one side at her as she bit her lip, her eyes wide as Sherlock leaned in to kiss her;

"That's my main issue," he tormented and kissed her softly.

"Excuse me." A stern voice spoke and Sherlock pulled away from Scarlett and the two of them looked up to where a nurse stood. The woman was small and plump as she had her hands on her hips and looked down at them.

"We'll have none of that in here," she warned and then walked off. Scarlett scowled as Sherlock simply just rolled his eyes.

"Cantankerous old bat," Scarlett hissed. "She has a hatred for me for some odd reason."

"Seems there are many people who have it out for you," Sherlock chuckled and Scarlett rolled her eyes, swatting him on the arm;

"Use the past tense," she told him. "He's gone..."

"How are your dreams?" Sherlock asked her and she went quiet before releasing his hand and playing with the corner of her duvet.

"How did you know?" she sighed.

"You have bags under your eyes, indicating a lack of sleep. Also...it would only seem natural..." Sherlock told her.

"I...he keeps coming back Sherlock...and I'm back there..." she stammered and Sherlock placed a finger to her lips, kissing her gently on the forehead.

"You don't need to remember it," he assured her. "It's over..."

"I know," she replied.

"Just," Sherlock sighed. "Get better and come home...before I contemplate using your hair straightners for an experiment."

"Dear God," Scarlett moaned, "I may contemplate discharging myself now."

...

A/N. So Moriarty is gone. But I have more ideas in my mind...that is if people want to continue reading this fic! So please do review and let me know what you think!


	37. Chapter 37

"Where," Sherlock drawled, "do you even think you're going?"

Scarlett sat on the edge of the hospital bed and looked around the ward before pointing her thumb and indicating to the door.

"Home," she responded.

"And you really think that I'm just going to let you walk out of here?" Sherlock asked her, shrugging himself back into his coat before he picked Scarlett's blue military coat up and began to help her into it carefully, making sure she didn't move from the bed as he did so. He gently pulled her long blonde hair from the collar as Scarlett's face dropped. She looked over at the door and then back to Sherlock as she pouted stubbornly.

"I can walk," she huffed and Sherlock simply just shook his head.

"I am perfectly aware you can walk," he informed her, "as you have told me that many times. However, you shall not be walking out of here when the doctor has told you that you're in need of rest. And walking, Scarlett Rose Jenson, does not classify into the category of rest."

"But-" she began to protest but stopped when she saw Sherlock raise his hand and wrapped an arm around her waist, helping her to stand up before he set her down into the wheelchair which John was pushing.

"Don't worry," John told her, "I won't let him take you on a mad run through the hospital."

"Take these for me John," Sherlock instructed his friend, handing him Scarlett's blue small case which contained all her belongings from her stay in hospital whilst Sherlock nudged John out the way, pushing Scarlett from the ward.

...

"Would you slow down?" Sherlock asked Scarlett, his arm snaking around her waist, holding her close to him as he helped her from the black cab and onto the paved slabs of Baker Street. Scarlett looked around and then up to the windows of the living room before noticing Mrs Hudson stood on the step, her arms folded over her body in the cold winter air.

"I'm fine," Scarlett huffed and Sherlock simply just pursed his lips and shook his head as he helped her walk towards the building.

"Scarlett dear," Mrs Hudson greeted her. "It's so good to see you."

"And you too Mrs Hudson," Scarlett agreed, clutching onto her side slightly in pain, her face screwing up. And in that second Sherlock took it upon himself to act.

"You're in pain," he stated and bent over, his arms going under her jean clad knees as he picked her up from the floor and held her in his arms. Mrs Hudson smiled sweetly at the sight whilst John finished paying the cab driver and began wheeling Scarlett's small case into the building.

"I'm going to have to walk sooner or later," Scarlett told Sherlock as he carried her up the stairs.

"I think it shall be later in that case," he said. "And besides, I need you to heal properly so you can get back to cleaning our flat and cooking the tea."

"Is that all I'm here for?" Scarlett raised a brow at Sherlock and he set her onto the sofa, murmuring into her ear as he did so;

"You're also easy on the eye."

"God," Scarlett rolled her eyes. "You know how to woo."

"Wooing is just another form of manipulation," he told her, taking her how she was looking around the room, her eyes vacant and emotionless as she looked over to the fireplace.

"I...um...well..." Sherlock coughed. "I had the rug changed..."

"Oh." Scarlett whispered. "That's good then...all good...fine..."

"Is this going to be uncomfortable for you?" Sherlock asked her. "Being back here?"

"I'll manage," she forced a smile onto her lips and Sherlock nodded;

"I'll make you a drink then."

...

"Sherlock!" Scarlett called his name from their bedroom. She sat on the bed, sat up straight, leaning against the pillows at half past ten at night. She gasped in pain slightly as she pulled the cushioned bandage from her wound and leant her head back, taking in deep breaths.

"Yes?" Sherlock wondered, poking his head around the door, seeing how her baggy vest top was pulled just above her stomach. But he noted the wound on her flesh more than anything else.

"Can you get me another bandage from my bag?" she asked him and he nodded;

"Of course," he replied and began rooting around until he found the box and pulled one out. Cautiously; he sat on the edge of the bed and removed it from the packaging.

"Would you prefer for me to place it on?" he asked her and she shrugged, still in slight pain, waiting for the aspirin to kick in. Sherlock took it upon himself to allow his hand to graze her cold skin as he quickly but firmly placed the bandage over the wound.

"Uh," Scarlett complained as he did it.

"Okay?" he asked her and she nodded, pulling her vest top back down over her skin.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep?" Sherlock asked her. "You look ghastly."

"Thanks very much," Scarlett replied and Sherlock chuckled.

"I did tell you," he replied, "that I was brash."

"I suppose I love you regardless of it," Scarlett replied and then her eyes went wide as she realised what she had just said. She slowly drew a hand over her mouth whilst Sherlock went wide eyed and stood up, coughing loudly as he did so, unable to look her in the eyes, not knowing how to react.

"I'll fetch you another drink then," he commented when he looked down into her empty cup on the bedside table, trying to distract her from what she had just told him.

"I...I...Sherlock...it...just...well..." Scarlett babbled as Sherlock removed his blazer in the sudden heat of the room and threw it onto the end of the bed.

"And I'll bring you that dreadful magazine you were reading," he said, quickly walking out the room, leaving a huffing Scarlett.

"Crap." She simply said.

...

Was it too early for her to say it? Then again, they have been together for a while I imagine and she didn't really mean for it to slip out...anyway...enough of my idiotic blabbering! Thank you so, so much to all my reviewers of this story and please let me know what you think of it! I have some ideas popping into my head and so I shall try and update as much as possible! Thank youuu!


	38. Chapter 38

Who knew that one word could create so much unresolved tension? Love. What a stupid word. And this was something which Scarlett couldn't help but think as she lay awake the next morning, hearing the slamming of cupboard doors in the kitchen, knowing Sherlock was awake and raring to go for the day. Well, he hadn't even gone to bed that night. Scarlett lay there, wondering why she had said it. She didn't mean for it to slip out. She didn't want to tell him how she felt so early on in their relationship. But she did love him. She couldn't help but think it was stupid. Love was stupid. It made people reckless, irresponsible and it hurt. It hurt not to hear him say it back to her. To ignore her like it never meant anything annoyed her. Was he so incapable of feeling anything to her? Finally, Scarlett heard the door to the bedroom open and she closed her eyes, feigning sleep, whilst she heard Sherlock's light breathing move further into the room. She heard the shutting of a wardrobe door and then he left again. She heard him cough loudly once and then move down the steps of 221B Baker Street and then the front door slammed shut.

"Uh," Scarlett complained, flouncing out of the bed, reaching for some clothes and quickly changing into them. She brushed her hair and added the necessary ointments to her body before using the bathroom.

"You just missed Sherlock," John commented when Scarlett walked out into the kitchen, her body ignoring the slight pain coming from her shot wound as she raised her eyebrows and nodded.

"Have I?" she asked him and he nodded.

"Good," she snapped suddenly and began to search for a clean mug, but, she was unable to find one. Tightening the muscles in her neck, she managed to keep calm and then reached for her coat.

"Where are you going?" John asked her.

"Out for a drink...and maybe a fried breakfast...the calorie intake doesn't particularly bother me at this moment in time," she informed John who began to look for his coat.

"I'll come with you," he said. "I can sense this is something Sherlock's done."

"Or something he hasn't," Scarlett muttered.

...

"So go on then," John pushed Scarlett whilst she sat opposite him, her hands wrapped around a hot chocolate.

"I...I think I made a mistake John..." Scarlett whispered and John raised a brow, drinking his coffee as he did so.

"What is it?" he asked and she shook her head, looking down at the red plastic table.

"I told Sherlock..." she stammered. "I told him that I love him," she managed to spit out and John's mouth fell open.

"Oh," was all he could manage to say and Scarlett ran a hand through her hair. "Presumably he said nothing back to you?"

"He didn't even acknowledge it," Scarlett sighed. "Just carried on like I had told him we were out of tea."

"Don't tell him that," John shook his head. "Because then he would have a fit."

"But...I don't know John...I guess that deep down I knew he wouldn't say it back to me...I mean...he's not openly affectionate. He's a gentleman and all that...but he isn't the type to dote on someone."

"No," John agreed. "He's not."

"So now I don't know what to do," Scarlett complained. "Because if I tell him that I meant it then I risk alienating him, but, if I tell him I didn't mean it then I'd just be a liar."

"The problem with Sherlock," John began, "he has never really cared for anyone. People's lives...they're all just part of the puzzle to solve. He fails to care if the live or die as long as he solves the problem surrounding it...but...when...when Moriarty had taken you...he changed. It was almost like there was a switch in him which made him care about if you lived. He didn't get the usual excitement of solving a case...so yes, he has changed because it is clear as day that he does care for you. He just won't admit it."

"I...I know he cares John..." Scarlett agreed. "I just wanted to hear him say it."

"And one day," John promised her, "he will. But for now he needs time to realise how he feels...to know that he feels the same. Sherlock doesn't deal well with emotions."

"No kidding?" Scarlett snorted and John chuckled.

"Trust me," John looked into her eyes, "he does love you. He just doesn't really know what to do about feeling it."

...

"You okay managing the stairs?" John asked Scarlett when they returned to 221B Baker Street and she nodded at him.

"I'm fine," she assured his worry and began to slowly climb up them, John following behind to make sure she didn't fall back. As soon as she reached the top of the steps she looked into the large lounge. No Sherlock.

"Well...I don't know where he is," John replied to her as he dropped the bags of shopping onto the worktop which they had collected earlier.

"No," Scarlett agreed and she noted something on the table.

"John," Scarlett called his name, "are these yours?"

"What?" John asked, looking at the tickets which were on the table and he shook his head.

"No," he responded, "Sarah and I haven't made plans for a while...she's been busy and so have I..."

"That means..." Scarlett couldn't even begin to fathom the words to describe what was in front of her. For Sherlock to have done this...well...it definitely meant something.

"Obviously they are for you," John said and Scarlett picked up the two tickets and looked at the time and date and film.

"They're for tonight," she said.

"Well yes," a new voice entered the room. Scarlett held onto the tickets as she looked at Sherlock who had entered the flat, he was removing his scarf and then his gloves as his cool eyes looked onto the floor. "You had turned the page in the movie reviews onto the one which the film was on a lot and so that indicated you were interested."

"I am," Scarlett replied.

"I know," Sherlock agreed. "So I thought maybe I should take you out instead of leaving you to rot in here with John's constant wittering."

"That would be nice," Scarlett agreed. Things were still fraught. The atmosphere was still tense. But...maybe a knife wouldn't be needed to cut the tension...maybe a little prick from a pin would have sufficed.

"Tea, John!" Sherlock demanded, sitting on the armchair. "I'm parched."

...

"She told me," John stated once Scarlett had left for the bathroom, going for a bath before going out for the evening.

"There are many things she could have told you John," Sherlock replied. "I'm no mind reader but I imagine I could have a good guess at what she said to you."

"She told me...that she told you...that she loved you," John managed to say it all correctly and Sherlock looked into his friend's eyes.

"What about it?" he asked and John snorted loudly.

"What do you mean what about it?" he snapped quietly. "She wants to know if you feel the same."

"Uh!" Sherlock complained, rolling his eyes. "I knew she would."

"Well it is customary to say it back to her," John said. "Instead of going to make pots of tea."

"It was hot chocolate."

"Regardless," John shook off. "Why can't you just tell her?"

"Because I don't love her," Sherlock growled and John rolled his eyes.

"Yes, you do." He replied. "Do you care for her?"

"Yes."

"Do you think she's attractive?"

"Yes."

"Would you do anything to protect her?"

"No," Sherlock replied sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. "I just saved her life a few times in the process of risking my own."

"That's a yes then," John said back to him and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Of course it's a yes."

"Then its love," John shrugged and Sherlock shook his head.

"It doesn't feel like love," he murmured.

"That's because you don't know what love feels like," John said and he waved his hands, creating a circle. "This right here is love."

"Humph," Sherlock grunted. "She knows I care for her...I bought her cinema tickets! I have to admit that as I stood in line for them I did contemplate slicing my own throat but-"

"Sherlock!" John interrupted. "Just...tell her you're sorry for how you reacted and it will all be fine...you don't need to say it back to her...just an apology."

...

"And you're sure you're up to this?" Sherlock checked as he helped Scarlett out from a black cab and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her close, making sure she was stable.

"I'm fine," she promised him in a small voice as they walked up to the screens of horror for Sherlock.

"I suppose," Sherlock drawled, "I should say sorry for how I acted last night." He took Johns advice.

"Why?" Scarlett asked, pushing him.

"Because it was unfair of me to walk away like I did when you were so clearly hurt. And so, for that, I am sorry." Sherlock confirmed his apology.

"Okay," Scarlett sighed and looked straight ahead. "I suppose the cinema tickets confirm that you don't think I'm half that bad."

"No...not half anyway...maybe seventy five percent..." he joked, ceases forming his cheeks, causing Scarlett to swat him on the arm as he took her hand and wrapped it into the crook of his.

"Where are you going?" Scarlett asked Sherlock when he began to walk straight over to hand his ticket in. "I want food."

"Popcorn, I imagine?" he responded, going into his wallet and pulling the money out as she nodded and he placed his order. The entire smell of the place did things to him.

"Screen number three," the woman said when Sherlock handed her their tickets. "Enjoy the film."

"Don't worry," Sherlock replied in a whisper as they walked away. "The chances of that happening are slim."

"Sherlock," Scarlett snapped as he held the door to the cinema open, allowing her to enter the blacked out room first. He followed as she walked into the middle of a row and plunked herself down onto a seat, stuffing popcorn into her mouth.

"How droll," Sherlock commented, "there's no life to it at all...predictable."

"If you're going to complain," Scarlett threatened him, "then we're just going to leave."

"Are you trying to tempt me?" Sherlock asked her and she began to remove her coat whilst Sherlock took a small piece of popcorn and examined it.

"You eat it..." Scarlett informed him as if he were stupid which earned him to glance.

"I am perfectly aware of that." Sherlock replied back in a small whisper. "I've never even tried it before."

"You...you've never had popcorn?" Scarlett checked and Sherlock nodded at her.

"No," he said. "Am I missing out?"

"Eat it and see," she pushed him.

"Fine," he agreed and popped the small piece into his mouth.

"What do you think?" she asked and he wrinkled his nose.

"Bland," he stated simply.

"What?" Scarlett checked and Sherlock began to remove his coat but he allowed his scarf to stay wrapped around his neck.

"I said it was bland," Sherlock frowned. "You can eat it all."

"I can't eat it all," Scarlett replied. "That's just greedy."

"You're in need of the calorie intake," he assured her.

"Thanks very much," she replied. She began to remove her coat, Sherlock taking it from her hand and laying his and hers on the empty seat next to his, hopefully giving people the hint not toe even try and sit next to him. Before either one of them could say anymore, the room went dark and people began to shut up before the trailers rolled on the cinema. Sherlock sat back in his seat, lacing his hands together, his elbows resting on the armrests either side of him. He tried his upmost to keep up with the dull plot but he found his mind wandering. He began thinking about trying to find a case to focus on...but...then he thought about what Scarlett had said last night. Did she love him? Did she mean it or was it something she said in the heat of the moment? But Sherlock couldn't bring himself to even contemplate saying that back to her. He did care for her...but love...he knew the definition of love...and the idea of it scared him. As soon as the credits began to roll Sherlock handed Scarlett her coat, helping her into it as she stood up. He took her hand and placed it into his arm as they walked from the large building.

"So what did you think?" Scarlett asked him.

"About?" he wondered and she rolled her eyes, throwing the popcorn into the bin before walking down the pavement.

"The film..." she replied. "The thing we have just been sat watching for the last couple hours."

"Oh that," he shrugged. "Predictable...did you enjoy it?"

"It was alright I suppose," she admitted.

"Good," Sherlock said. "Because I don't plan on sitting through torture like that again."

...

Thank you so very much to everyone who reviewed! I have an idea and the plot shall pick up once again! So thank you to eruptingearth, I am so glad you like the fanfic! Thank you to Cheeseball too for constantly reviewing and also to smimjin and My Purple Skies as well as ladimon for reviewing my previous few chapters!


	39. Chapter 39

"How was work?" Sherlock asked Scarlett one week later when she walked back into the flat and dropped down onto the sofa next to Sherlock, resting her head onto his shoulder whilst he continued reading the book in his hand whilst Scarlett sighed loudly.

"Fine," she sighed. "Mary had me running around the office...bringing coffees...photocopying...it's almost like I've gone back to how I was when I first started working there."

"She had you running around even when you're still quite weak?" Sherlock sounded disgusted, his mind managing to read the page he was on whilst giving Scarlett his attention also.

"I'm fine," Scarlett responded. "Just really tired."

"So now isn't the time to ask what's for tea?" Sherlock guessed and Scarlett pulled her BlackBerry from her bag which was still on her shoulder and she threw it onto his lap.

"Whatever takeaway you fancy," Scarlett replied, "because I am not cooking."

"Hmm," Sherlock agreed and Scarlett took the book from his hands and looked at the front cover before dropping it onto her lap, her hand holding the page he was on whilst she raised a brow and looked at him.

"Harry Potter?" she asked him. "You're reading Harry Potter?"

"Well you have all of them in the bedroom and I was extremely bored considering I have read all my books multiple times," Sherlock explained. "And you're always going on about how good it is."

"And what do you think?" Scarlett asked with a yawn.

"I have to admit that it is well written and very in depth," Sherlock responded and picked up Scarlett's BlackBerry and began to dial numbers into it.

"Who are you phoning?" Scarlett asked.

"I'm phoning for a Chinese," Sherlock responded. "Considering you're refusing to make me anything to eat."

"You could make me something to eat," Scarlett replied with a slight hint in her voice.

"Don't talk silly," Sherlock said.

"And how do you even know the number to the Chinese?" Scarlett pondered.

"Do you think John and I cooked before you came along?" Sherlock chuckled and began to order the usual food which they were after. When he hung up on the phone he handed it back to Scarlett and then she placed it onto the coffee table, dumping her bag on the floor and then hanging her coat up.

"Do you want a drink?" Scarlett called out and Sherlock concluded he couldn't be bothered to read anymore and so he laid flat on the sofa and rested his hands onto his forehead.

"Lemonade please...I'm not in the mood for tea," Sherlock informed her and she began to pour him a drink before placing it onto the coffee table and then downing her can of coca cola.

"Still no case?" Scarlett asked Sherlock and he shook his head, closing his eyes as he did so.

"No," he drawled. "Nothing...nothing at all...I'm going to go mad if nothing comes up."

"I'm sure something will come up," she assured him.

"It had best do..." Sherlock said and there was a sudden knock on the door and he jumped up. "And you need to replace your IPod."

"What?" Scarlett snapped as Sherlock moved down the stairs, avoiding her wrath. When he opened the door he jumped back a little.

"Chinese?" his brother was stood on his doorstep, a white bag with delicious smelling food in it, a small grin on his face.

"Government cuts affected you badly Mycroft?" Sherlock asked. "They had to kick you out?"

"Don't be sarcastic with me Sherlock," Mycroft's grin fell from his face.

"Do you want a tip then?" Sherlock asked.

"As much as you'd love to see me fail Sherlock," Mycroft drawled, "I'm here on business."

"Sherlock!" Scarlett called down the stairs. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock yelled back up to her. "Just having a quick chat with...well...an acquaintance..."

"Oh," Scarlett replied, unsure of if she should go downstairs or if she should keep out of it.

"I'll be up in a moment Scarlett," Sherlock said. "Just go back in the room."

Scarlett did as she was told whilst Sherlock stepped out onto the step, closing the door slightly behind him whilst Mycroft managed to quickly drop the Chinese bag into the hallway.

"So what is this about Mycroft?" Sherlock asked. "I know you don't like to be kept waiting...you get that trait from mother."

"You know how Mummy and I are similar," Mycroft replied. "But this is about something different. A Mr Moriarty if you know of him."

"Mr Moriarty?" Sherlock chuckled. "What about him?"

"His body Sherlock...you apparently shot him, am I correct?" Mycroft replied and Sherlock nodded, folding his arms over his chest.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I shot him."

"As I thought," Mycroft said. "Earlier today, Sherlock, his body was dug up."

"What?" Sherlock asked with his lips tight together.

"Someone dug up his body," Mycroft spoke. "And we want to know why."

"And you think I would know why?" Sherlock replied.

"Well," Mycroft began, "you two do have a history and I did think you would have some inclination."

"Well I don't know why," Sherlock stated. "_Mr _Moriarty had numerous fans, I do believe."

"But why would anyone want to do this?" Mycroft asked.

"As I said," Sherlock sounded bored, "I don't know."

"And do you have any intention as to find out why?"

"Not sure," Sherlock shrugged. "I have a large case on at the moment...it is taking up a lot of my time," he lied.

"Typical," Moriarty chuckled. "And this Scarlett...she's still around," he stated.

"And that is supposed to mean that you're shocked I'm not bored of her yet and haven't discarded her. You would only think that because you know I have a habit of needing to be entertained all the time," Sherlock said.

"I read about her..." Mycroft began.

"Of course you did," Sherlock murmured.

"She's certainly not like you, is she?" Mycroft smirked. "She's quite intelligent though, isn't she? But her job is completely droll, wouldn't you say?"

"She knows what I think of her job," Sherlock said.

"So is it serious?" Mycroft pondered and Sherlock chuckled.

"Scarlett is none of your business," Sherlock said.

"But you are."

"Much to my dismay."

"So answer the question."

"I prefer to leave you guessing," Sherlock replied. "You know everything...so why don't you go and find out for yourself?"

"Because I prefer to speak to my brother about it."

"Your brother doesn't particularly want to talk to you about it," Sherlock responded.

"Do you remember the talk Sherlock?" Mycroft joked creepily. "The birds and the bees?"

"Don't humour me," Sherlock demanded from him.

"I just don't want any little...ah...mistakes, Sherlock. So I hope you're being careful..."

"Why don't you run along and figure out your little mystery. I'm not interested and I don't want you anywhere near Scarlett." Sherlock replied.

"I'll see you soon Sherlock..." Mycroft chuckled. "Very soon."

...

"What was that about?" Scarlett asked when Sherlock walked back up into the flat with the Chinese as he sulked to himself. Sherlock dropped the food onto the worktop and Scarlett stood in the doorway, watching as he paced up and down.

"What's the matter?" Scarlett asked. "Who were you talking to?"

"I'm going out," Sherlock said quickly, walking into the living room and picking up his coat, shrugging into it and then placing his scarf on.

"But the food...who was it? What's going on?" She garbled and Sherlock shook his head.

"It doesn't matter," he shrugged off.

"You're worrying me Sherlock!" Scarlett snapped and Sherlock looked at her, turning on his heel and placing his hands either side of her face, clasping her cheeks as he quickly kissed her on the forehead.

"You don't need to worry," he promised her. "Nothing is going on."

"Well then you can tell me?"

"I will," he promised. "When I have time...but I'm in a rush..."

"Sherlock," she complained as the consulting detective began to twirl on his heel.

"I'll come too!" she said suddenly and Sherlock shook his head.

"No," defiance took hold of his voice. "You look tired enough as it is...I'll be back soon."

And with that the consulting detective ran from the flat. Scarlett quickly rushed over to the window and pulled back the curtains, watching as he moved down the pavement, wondering what had gotten him all het up.

...

A/N: Not my best chapter, I know, but they will get better. Little mystery with Moriarty there, isn't there? Anyway, thank you to all those who have reviewed and I am glad many of you are liking it so far! Please do review and let me know what you think may happen!


	40. Chapter 40

Sherlock stood at the graveside where the earth had once again been filled in, burying a blank hole. The police had deduced that the coffin was indeed empty when they discovered it in the graveyard, resting beside the headstone. But there was an issue. There was apparently no trace of anyone even being in the coffin. There was no indentation from where the body had been resting and there was no smell of death in the coffin. Sherlock couldn't put his figure on it. He had shot him. Three times, in the chest. That was all it had to take to kill him.

"Strange, isn't it?" a sudden voice spoke beside Sherlock and the consulting detective looked to his left, his eyes piercing down on the woman who was stood next to him. "How one moment…someone is there…and the next they're not."

"Please don't tell me it is some form of magic trick," Sherlock drawled. "Because they don't exist."

"Reawakening the dead isn't possible either," she informed him. "And yet…well…it seems to have happened."

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked her and she finally allowed her green eyes to rise up and meet his, her curly brown hair dangling around her as she pulled her black coat closer around her body.

"That isn't important," she said. "What is important though…well…what happened to dear Jim Moriarty."

"It's clear, isn't it?" Sherlock replied, looking down onto his headstone. "Someone stole his body."

"Tell me Mr Holmes," she coughed lightly once. "Were you with him when his body was taken from your flat? Did you check his pulse to make sure he was dead? Was you there with him when his body was in the morgue?"

"No," Sherlock replied. "But don't even try and tell me he managed to survive and sneak out my flat because that is ludicrous and also impossible."

"Moriarty is all about the impossible," she replied, looking down onto the grave.

"You said is," Sherlock said and the woman looked at him again and a devilish grin took hold of her lips as she sarcastically placed a hand over her mouth.

"Oops," she whispered. "Looks like I used the present and not the past tense."

"Who are you?" Sherlock tried again and she chuckled lightly.

"Let's just say," she began, "that I'm equal to you."

"Don't talk stupid," Sherlock spoke cockily. "What do you know about Moriarty?"

"I know that he is still alive," she said.

"How?"

"Because once you had taken your beloved girlfriend," she hissed, "down to the ambulance, another crew arrived on sight. He informed them he was a Jack Hallam."

"Impossible," Sherlock shook his head. "Jack Hallam…he…John shot him…he worked for Moriarty."

"Ah," the woman raised her eyebrows, "he could hardly tell them that he was Jim Moriarty, could he? The police would have been onto him like a shot."

"So even when he was facing death he managed to lie his way out of trouble." Sherlock shook his head and the woman smiled lightly.

"Anyway," she carried on with the story, "whilst in hospital he managed to survive for one night…avoided the police's questions…and then," she clicked her fingers, "he vanished."

"And you seriously expect me to believe this?" Sherlock asked after a moment.

"You should," she advised him. "The police mistook Jack to be Moriarty and buried him here."

"And no one wondered about why he went missing in hospital? No enquiries were made?" Sherlock asked and she shrugged.

"The police are still on the lookout for Jack…little do they know that he was buried six feet under," she looked down at the ground for a moment. "But, they're not too worried apparently. As long as they think Moriarty is dead then they don't need to panic over some dumb henchman that they will never find."

"And were the bodies checked for ID?" Sherlock smirked a little. "Because the last time I checked that is what happened during post mortems."

"Moriarty made sure his men didn't have ID's Mr Holmes," she chuckled. "None of them ever existed…they were paid under the table…so it was impossible to ID them. The only ID on their bodies was credit cards that had fake names on them….so no one truly knows who they are."

"This isn't even possible," Sherlock replied. "He can't just survive that…he can't…"

"You truly think he was dumb enough to get caught?" she asked Sherlock. "You think Jim Moriarty isn't able to fix multiple situations and avoid trouble?"

"I know he's smart," Sherlock replied. "As much as it pains me to admit it."

"He's out there Mr Holmes," she promised him. "He's just weak at the moment…needs time to rest. But he isn't best pleased that you shot him."

"Can't imagine why," Sherlock snorted. "So where is he?"

"As I said," she spoke. "He's resting."

"And he ordered for the body to be dug up?" Sherlock checked.

"Yes," she replied. "He needed to show you…well…he's back Mr Holmes."

"And he sent you to tell me this, did he?" Sherlock cocked a brow at her and she ran a hand through her hair.

"He wanted to come himself," she shrugged. "But he's still weak and unwell."

"So what is his plan now?"

"Well," she began pacing slowly. "When he's fit enough and recovered…he plans to finish you off Mr Holmes…you and Scarlett, is it? That boring and droll secretary you seem to be doting upon."

"I am not doting upon her," Sherlock denied any affection.

"Of course not," she said sarcastically. "That's why you took her to watch some stupid movie where the good guy will always get the girl and the bad guy loses…"

"And how do you possibly know that?" Sherlock asked her and she grinned.

"We know everything Mr Holmes," she replied.

"Oh I'm sure," Sherlock ironically said.

"Anyway," she rested a hand onto Sherlock's arm and Sherlock looked down at the contact which she was making, "I have to be off…things to do and people to see."

"Where is he?" Sherlock asked her again.

"Time shall tell," she stood on her toes, her mouth close to Sherlock's ear. "But if I were you, I'd keep an eye on little Scarlett…wouldn't want the silly girl to get hurt."

"You still haven't told me your name," Sherlock stated and she giggled lightly into his ear.

"Irene." She stated. "Irene Adler."

Quickly, she kissed Sherlock on the cheek and left him stood at the graveside, not without throwing a knowing glance at a tree hidden in the background.

….

Scarlett twirled quickly and rested her back against the wood of the great oak. Her hands rested on the wood and she breathed deeply and quickly, her breath apparent in the mist. Slowly she closed her eyes and waited for a moment, taking in what she had seen. Sherlock…with a woman in a cemetery. She recalled everything she had seen. The deep conversation…the touch on the arm…the whispering into his ear…and then kissing him on the cheek. Surely if he was going to have an affair he would choose somewhere more private than a cemetery? But this was Sherlock…he wasn't normal. And then she remembered. Who was at the door? Something had gotten him twitchy earlier on and made him rush out the flat. Was it her? Was that why he didn't want her to follow? Because he was meeting with her? Scarlett didn't know what to think. But what she had seen was enough to make her want answers.

….

"You imbecile!" Sherlock snapped as soon as he walked into Scotland Yard and Lestrade's office.

"Excuse me?" he asked and Sherlock snorted.

"I said!" he snapped. "You imbecile! The man you buried wasn't Moriarty! It was his henchman!"

"His henchman went walkabouts Sherlock," Lestrade replied. "He left hospital and we don't know where he is."

"That's Moriarty! He stole Hallam's identity to stop you from arresting him!" Sherlock snapped.

"What?" Lestrade asked. "But you said the one nearest the fireplace was Moriarty!"

"And Hallam's body was also not far from it," Sherlock shook his head.

"The body's couldn't be identified Sherlock," Lestrade said. "There was no record of any of them. No fingerprints…dental records…nothing…"

"And why aren't you looking for Hallam who is in fact Moriarty?" Sherlock asked. "And why didn't you tell me?"

"We are looking for him," Lestrade said. "But when you don't have a photo of someone then it's hard to find them. And not all the police business is to do with you…you helped solve the case and that's all the involvement we need from you."

"Clearly not," Sherlock responded. "Because he's still out there…"

"And how do you know that?"

"Irene Adler."

….

Scarlett paced up and down the living room that night, her hands running through her hair as she did so. She had no other explanation for it. Sherlock's jumpiness…his secret meeting…the extremely good looking woman he met with. He was having an affair. It all made sense. Sherlock was high maintenance…Scarlett knew that. And she was dull. She was too dull for him…and he wanted more. But she couldn't be more. She suddenly heard the slamming of 221B Baker Street and then Sherlock entered the living room as he looked at her, the two of them saying nothing but just staring at each other.

"Where have you been?" Scarlett asked him, knowing full well where he had been.

"Out," he said simply, not wanting to worry her. Scarlett closed her eyes for a moment.

"Out where?"

"Just out," Sherlock huffed, removing his coat.

"Oh right," Scarlett said. "Visiting a dead relative were you?"

"Ah," Sherlock said simply.

"If…if you don't want me…you could have just said…" Scarlett began to cry slightly and Sherlock simply just looked confused.

"Pardon?"

"The woman Sherlock! The one who you appeared cosy with!"

"Miss Adler," Sherlock said and Scarlett cried even louder and then sniffed before glaring at him.

"Miss Adler?" she snapped.

"Irene then," Sherlock replied. "I don't see why you're all het up."

"You…and her…Sherlock…" Scarlett babbled. "Are you sleeping with her?"

"What?" Sherlock snapped back.

"Are you sleeping with her…that explains why you won't touch me…well?"

"No," Sherlock replied. "You have taken hold of the completely wrong end of the stick."

"Then why don't you set me right?" Scarlett asked him. "Because I'm having a hard time understanding."

"Moriarty's alive."

…

"How can it be?" Scarlett asked half an hour later, the pair of them had calmed down. Sherlock sat on the floor, his and Scarlett's backs resting against the sofa as they sat there. His arm was draped over her shoulders as his body was stiff.

"It's completely ludicrous," Sherlock agreed with her and she snorted.

"It's daft," she said. "How no one knew them…they never existed…he thought of everything, didn't he?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied. "But I'll manage to find him…Miss Adler will let slip soon enough…she seems intelligent, but a little reckless also."

"She was pretty," Scarlett said and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You're so shallow," he told her. "You base people on looks and then get down if they're remotely better looking than you."

"So you think she's prettier than me?" Scarlett asked and Sherlock simply just chuckled.

"She was attractive…but her nose didn't help her." Sherlock said.

"Her nose?" Scarlett asked.

"Yes…much too big for her face…"

"You're going on her nose?" Scarlett checked and Sherlock shrugged.

"It wasn't that nice up close," Sherlock promised her.

"So what now?" Scarlett asked. "We go back to hiding out again?"

"I'll think of something. Miss Adler is going to be key to this I do believe." Sherlock informed her.

"I don't like it," Scarlett replied.

"You don't like it because you're jealous," Sherlock informed her and bent down to kiss her quickly. "And there's no need to be."

"Hmm," Scarlett mused. "I just worry you'll find someone better…more interesting than some stupid secretary."

"How many times do I need to tell you?" Sherlock asked her with a roll of his eyes. "You're not just some stupid secretary…yes…you have a boring life…and for some reason you enjoy it…but with me in it, I think it makes more exciting."

"More dangerous," Scarlett snorted and Sherlock smiled cockily.

"That is true," he agreed and then looked startled as Scarlett moved her body, placing her legs either side of his body as she settled herself on his lap.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked her, his hand mindlessly moving to hold her waist.

"Nothing," Scarlett replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Don't play dumb with me Scarlett Jenson," Sherlock warned her. "I know what you're after."

"I don't want anything," Scarlett said to him. "I love you Sherlock…okay? And I know you can't say it back to me yet because you probably don't feel the same…but…I'm tired of waiting."

"That's because you're impatient," Sherlock said after she had kissed him gently.

"It's another trait of mine," she said. "I'm fed up of being in these life and death situations…and…I don't want to wait any longer…not knowing…"

"And you think now is the time? After I've told you my archenemy is alive still?" Sherlock checked, slowly kissing her neck.

"I can't think of a better time," she whispered.

"Well," Sherlock said against her pale skin, "I don't think I shall reject you then."

One week later

Scarlett began to worry as she paced up and down in the flat. Twenty one days she was told to wait. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have forgotten to take one the morning after? Oh that's right, Mary had called and told her to get her skinny arse into work. She swore that if Mary ruined her life because of that phone call she was going to personally murder her. She only had another two weeks to wait until she would be able to take one. She didn't need it. Not when she had just learned Moriarty was still alive and in hiding. And Sherlock…she couldn't even think of telling him if worst came to the worst. He'd have a fit. Would he throw her out? Would he not want her? She knew how he felt on the matter. Scarlett took a deep breath and sat down. She'd know in another two weeks if she was, indeed, pregnant.

…

Thank you to all the reviews I have received! I love to hear your feedback! So Moriarty is still alive! He's a sneaky one! I actually did read of a case similar to his. He really did think of everything! And Sherlock and Scarlett? Well, time shall tell what will be the outcome of their actions! Please review!


	41. Chapter 41

"Your girlfriend is looking a little on edge today," a new voice joined Sherlock as he sat by himself in the lab of St Bart's. Sherlock's eyes never left the microscope where he was examining some form of chemical on a new case which had developed.

"Is she really?" Sherlock drawled, knowing Irene Adler was beside him, wanting to provoke a reaction from him. But he had a plan.

"Hmm," Irene agreed, settling down on a stool next to Sherlock's, her arm draped over the worktop and her hand holding her chin. "I guess you told her what Mr Moriarty has planned?"

"Of course," Sherlock kept his answers short and sweet.

"And how did she take the news?" Adler wondered.

"Oh she was filled with joy," Sherlock said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes into the microscope.

"Guessing it didn't go down too well then," Irene commented and then whistled lowly to herself.

"No," Sherlock agreed. "Why are you here?"

"I have information...Mr Moriarty is getting better...slow but sure..." Irene chuckled.

"Where is he?" Sherlock asked her.

"He's..." she began but trailed off, raising a finger and a small smile crept onto her mouth, "good try Mr Holmes...but I don't plan to spill any news about it."

"Then I have nothing to say to you," Sherlock said as the computer suddenly made a loud beeping noise and he jumped from his seat, walking over to it and checking the results. He shook his head once as it said there was no match and he took the Petri dish from the microscope and placed it back into the large fridge.

"Don't be such a bore Sherlock," Irene pouted. "I have a proposition."

"Somehow I don't think I'm interested," Sherlock said, avoiding her eye contact as he dashed around the lab.

"I think you will be," she informed him. "Because little Scarlett is involved."

Three hours earlier

"Mary!" Scarlett called out from the photocopying machine. "Can you send the documents on my computer to print please?"

"Come back in here and do it yourself!" Mary yelled back, sitting comfortably at her desk. Scarlett walked back out into the office area and did it herself.

"I said please," Scarlett hissed at Mary before walking back into the copying room, picking up the documents and then dropping them off into Mr High's office.

"There's someone outside to see you," Mary informed Scarlett when the girl finally managed to sit back down at her desk, typing quickly as she glanced out the glass and saw a woman at the main reception who was stood and texting on a phone.

"Her?" Scarlett asked and Mary nodded.

"Apparently so," she said. "Mr Willis permitted you to go on your dinner break now and sort this out."

Scarlett stood up and grabbed her coat, shrugging into it, looking onto the December air through the window.

"Don't be late!" Mary called to her as Scarlett walked through the office, dumping her bag onto her shoulder as she did so. When she stepped into the reception she looked at the woman with wide green eyes and long brown hair as they eyed each other up.

"Miss Jenson," she spoke.

"Miss Adler, I presume?" Scarlett said and the woman nodded.

"We need to talk," Irene said and began walking to the lift, leaving Scarlett with no option but to follow her. Once inside the confined space, Irene turned to look at Scarlett.

"You know that Moriarty is back," Irene stated. "And you should also know that he wants you and Sherlock dead."

"I am aware of that," Scarlett replied. "What does it have to do with you?"

"I'm just his messenger...much like you...a secretary if you shall," she stated and hit the red button on the lift, stopping it from moving.

"I don't think you and I have anything in common," Scarlett replied. "Now, what do you want?"

"I have been instructed to deliver this," she handed Scarlett a brown envelope which she pulled from her coat. Scarlett looked at the envelope before pulling it open. It simply read 12 Primrose Avenue.

"What's this?" Scarlett asked.

"An address," Irene rolled her eyes. "How are you with Sherlock when you ask such ridiculous questions?"

Scarlett had no reply to that for she didn't really know the answer.

"Anyway," Irene continued, "he wants you there as soon as possible."

Irene pressed the button for the lift and then it continued travelling downwards.

"Why?" Scarlett asked.

"Obviously to finish you off," Irene said and then stepped out the lift. The two women walked down the steps quickly and waited for a cab.

"And I imagine Sherlock isn't to know of this?" Scarlett asked and Irene remained tight lipped.

"Not as dumb as you look," she said and hailed a cab, making sure Scarlett went in first before she followed and gave her an address.

"You know I could just scream?" Scarlett whispered. "I don't know why I'm coming with you willingly."

"Because deep down you know it is the sensible thing to do," Irene said. "Trust me."

"I'm sorry," Scarlett simply said. "Did you just tell me to trust you?"

"You'll see," Irene said lowly and turned to look out the window, leaving Scarlett to daze into her own thoughts, pondering whether or not she should alert Sherlock of what was happening. She knew she should...but then he may get hurt once again. And Irene would clearly see. And then her thoughts went onto how she could escape Adler's gaze. Did she really want to see Moriarty? No. She didn't.

"Thanks," Irene said and the women moved from the cab and looked onto the house.

"I'm not allowed to go in," she said and then went into her pocket and pulled out a small black object and Scarlett looked into her eyes intently.

"What is this?" she asked as Irene handed her the object.

"Like I said," Irene spoke. "You should trust me...but I'd keep an eye on Sherlock...he's certainly a dish."

And with that, Irene Adler left Scarlett holding onto the gun in broad daylight. Scarlett hid it in her pocket and then waistband and then moved up the pathway, knowing she was once again better dead than Sherlock. She could also feel Irene Adler still looking at her from down the street, making sure she went into the house. Scarlett had seen the gun hidden in Irene's pocket along with the one she had given away and so she guessed if she tried any funny business then she'd probably be dead anyway. The door was unlocked and Scarlett moved into the derelict house, her hands shaking as she did so, wondering what to do for the best. Why had Irene Adler given her a gun? What was she playing at? Scarlett moved further into the house until she came to the living room. And he was there. The usual grin was held on his face as he looked at the cautious blonde walking into the house. He was pale and his hair was ruffled up, yet he wore a smart suit. He was sat down and looked incredibly weak.

"Miss Jenson," he said slowly and Scarlett noted the gun on his lap. They were alone in the house and everything was white and furniture was covered up.

"Why am I here?" Scarlett asked, suddenly reaching for the gun in her waistband and pointing it at Moriarty, not taking any chances whatsoever.

"I didn't know you carried weapons with you these days..." Moriarty said and picked up his own gun weakly.

"How did you survive?" Scarlett asked. "I mean really?"

"I only just made it," Moriarty said. "But I'm still here."

"I can see that," Scarlett said. "But...well...I...I'll call the police."

"And as soon as you do that then I will shoot you," he warned her, his eyes narrowing into hers.

"So what?" Scarlett asked. "Why am I here?"

"To finish what I started weeks ago," he said.

"And what makes you think I won't shoot you before you shoot me?" Scarlett asked him. "After all you put us through...do you think I won't do it?"

"You don't have the guts," he informed her. "What you did was brave before...shooting yourself to save Sherlock...but we both know that you can't kill anyone if they're weak...you'd consider it to be taking advantage."

"I killed the Golem," she informed him.

"But he had Sherlock's life in the line," Moriarty whispered. "This is just you and I...only your own life at risk...you don't have the stomach."

"You're wrong," Scarlett said and took the gun off from safety mode.

"You're shaking," Moriarty chuckled. "You can't do it Scarlett..."

"Don't test me," Scarlett snapped, beginning to pale and sweat slightly. "You almost ruined my life!"

"And you're telling me you want cold blooded revenge? Like Sherlock would?" Moriarty checked.

"No," Scarlett shook her head. "I want you to leave me alone." And then she shot him.

...

"Scarlett..." Sherlock said as soon as he entered the house and saw Scarlett sat on the floor, a gun held in her hand, her eyes looking at the bleeding body of Moriarty.

"You killed him?" Sherlock checked as he dropped to his knees and took the gun from her hands, stuffing it into his own pocket as he helped pick her up from the floor.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked her and she nodded. She wasn't showing any emotion whatsoever. She was vacant.

"I just shot him..." Scarlett said. "I had to."

"I know," Sherlock assured her. "But we have to get you out of here...we need to cover it up...come on..."

"What?" Scarlett asked Sherlock.

"The chances of you going to jail are slim Scarlett...but we should avoid the chance anyhow..." Sherlock said and wrapped an arm around her waist, moving her from the house as she allowed him to steer her onto the street.

"Irene," she suddenly said, looking up at Sherlock. "She gave me the gun Sherlock..."

"I know," Sherlock said. "I'll explain everything..."

...

"He's dead," Irene simply stated as she spoke down the phone. She watched as Sherlock helped Scarlett into a cab and they drove off whilst she backed away from the road and looked at the couple.

"Good," the male said from the other end of the phone. "Call the police in five minutes. Tell them you heard a gunshot as you were walking down the street and so you went to investigate. Say nothing more and nothing less."

"Yes sir," Irene said. "And as for Mr Holmes?"

"Leave him be," the man said. "He's not my main worry anymore. My main worry had been disposed of."

"Why did the girl have to be involved?" Irene wondered. "Why not hire an assassin?"

"There would always be a chance they could be found out and that would not reflect well on the government if so," he spoke. "This way it is an open and shut murder enquiry. No need to drag anything out...and Moriarty won't be able to cause me anymore problems with his drug rings and sneaking past borders with smuggled goods."

"And does that mean my contract is terminated?"

"As a double agent, yes." He said. "But I could always do with your services in my office."

"I'll think about that," Irene said.

"You do that," he replied. "Now call the police," and with that, Mycroft Holmes hung up the phone.

...

Scarlett continued to check the news often; making sure nothing came of Moriarty's murder. Sherlock had been able to deduce that Irene was a double agent, fighting against Moriarty and she wanted him dead as much as Sherlock and Scarlett. But, he couldn't quite figure out who she was truly working for. He had managed to dispose of the murder weapon successfully and now they were all trying to get on with their lives.

"Oh," Scarlett jumped when she walked in with the shopping and saw John in the kitchen making a cup of tea. "I thought you'd be at Sarah's."

"No," John said. "She's out with some friends tonight...and Sherlock told me...about you and Moriarty..."

"Hmm," Scarlett said and she placed the bags onto the worktops. "It feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders." She wanted to add that another one may be added on but she refrained from saying anything. Twenty one days had passed and she was preparing to find out if she was pregnant or not.

"I imagine so," John said and Scarlett began to unpack the shopping.

"So are you okay?" John checked with her and she nodded.

"I'm fine," she said. "Just tired and all that..."

"I'll help unpack then," John said and reached for _the_ bag. Scarlett saw him and she rushed across the kitchen and tried to pull the bag from his hands.

"I've got it!" she snapped at him.

"Its fine," he promised her, not letting the bag go.

"No!" she snapped and then the bag split. Scarlett groaned and dropped to her knees and John did the same. Scarlett saw the green pharmacy bag but before she could grab it, she saw John with it. The contents inside it fell to the floor and Scarlett simply just looked down onto it as John did the same.

"You're..." John stammered as he picked it up and held onto it.

"I don't know," Scarlett shrugged. "I...I need to check."

"Stand up," John instructed her as he placed the pregnancy test back into the bag and helped Scarlett up. "You look like you're about to pass out."

John and Scarlett moved over to the sofa and sat down, Scarlett dropped her hands into her head and John waited expectantly.

"I...I didn't...I didn't know what to do," Scarlett said lowly. "Sherlock...things got heated...and I told him...that we'd be safe...because I'm on the pill...but the next morning...work phoned me and said I had to go in early...I forgot to take the pills John...I missed taking them the next day...then I went to find them and I didn't have any..."

"You had unprotected sex?" John checked. "With Sherlock?"

"Yes," she replied. "So I've had to wait twenty one days before being able to do the test."

"Does he know?" John whispered. "That there's a chance you could be pregnant?"

"Of course not," Scarlett replied quickly. "If he did...what will he do John?"

"I don't know," John whispered. "I truly have no idea."

...

So that is Moriarty now truly gone and Irene Adler was also slightly sneaky too! But now, we may have a dilemma! So, cast your verdict! Pregnant or not? You choice! Please review!


	42. Chapter 42

"I hate to tell you this," John spoke to Scarlett as she finished packing away the shopping, the pregnancy test on the table looking like a massive bomb about to explode on the pair of them. "But you have to do the test sooner or later."

"I don't want to," Scarlett complained in a murmur. "I'm scared...I mean what will he do? He doesn't want children John...and...I don't even know if I do..."

"But the uncertainty isn't helping anyone Scarlett," John informed her. "You need to know and then you can begin to worry."

"Uh!" a sudden voice joined the room and Scarlett looked at John and he quickly grabbed the pregnancy test and hid it in the nearest place he could find; which so happened to be the fridge. Scarlett raised her brows at him and her mouth parted slightly and he shrugged at her before they saw Sherlock enter the room.

"I'm telling you," Sherlock said. "If the criminal world doesn't get its act together soon then I may have to consider just joining them to keep myself in a job."

"Sherlock!" Scarlett scolded him for talking like he was doing. "And technically your job doesn't exist."

"Quite obviously it does." Sherlock responded quickly. "Because I have the job of being a consulting detective."

"Hmm," Scarlett replied. "Do you want a drink?"

"I think I shall just grab a lemonade from the fridge," he said and began to walk over to it. Scarlett quickly just jumped in front of him and blocked him from the way to the fridge.

"I'll get it," she said.

"I am more than capable," he informed her. "And I thought I would stop you from moaning at me for not doing anything on my own."

"I do not moan!" she snapped at Sherlock and he rolled his eyes.

"You do once a month," he informed her and she turned for the fridge and pulled him a can of Sprite from the fridge and handed it to him whilst John took a deep breath of relief when she shut the fridge. Sherlock picked up on John's sigh and he raised a brow at his friend;

"What was with the sigh?" Sherlock wondered. "Have you two removed my head from the fridge? I told you to leave it in! I need to know the exact reduction of the human flesh when it has been in a fridge for exactly one month."

"Your head is still in there," Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Much to my dismay."

"Good," Sherlock drawled and took a swig of his drink. "So what is for tea?"

"I was going to make spaghetti Bolognese," Scarlett replied. "That alright?"

"Slightly bland but I shan't object," Sherlock replied and ran a hand through his hair before removing his coat and flopping onto his sofa, moving his hands to cover his eyes.

"So is there nothing out there?" John asked and he sat down in the armchair and sneakily glanced to the side as Scarlett pulled the pregnancy test from the fridge and then snuck down to her room.

"There is lots out there John," Sherlock replied. "Just nothing of interest."

"Something will come up soon," John shrugged and received a nod from Scarlett as she left the bedroom.

"It had best do," Sherlock sounded threatening. "The open and shut case today was dull. It was typical sibling rivalry which went too far. Of course, Lestrade thought that the sister wasn't capable of doing it but in a moment of fury anyone is possible of anything. The only interesting part was hearing Anderson and Donovan having a not so private row."

"Oh, what about?" John asked and Sherlock allowed his eyes to look at John for a moment before he went back to smirking.

"Such a gossip John," Sherlock commented. "She wants him to break up with his wife and come clean with the affair. Lord only knows why she would even contemplate going out with such an unattractive slime ball makes me wonder how she passed her psych test to join the force."

"Sometimes I bet Scarlett wonders why she puts up with you," John muttered.

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock said, "she'd be lost without me."

"Do you want a bet?" Scarlett called out, managing to eavesdrop into the conversation whilst Sherlock chuckled.

"How much?" Sherlock challenged her and a nervous laugh escaped her lips.

"Anyway," John said. "Sarah...she was wondering...if you two wanted to...well..."

"Oh Lord," Sherlock drawled and undid his blazer button.

"I never said what it was," John retorted.

"I know," Sherlock replied. "Your dulcet tone and her dulcet mind told me enough to deduce what it is she wants because she thinks it would be nice I imagine."

"I told her it wasn't a good idea," John said. "And that you wouldn't appreciate the gesture."

"What are you two going on about?" Scarlett pondered.

"Sarah and John would like us to double date with them," Sherlock called out. "God that thought is enough to drive me mad...never mind going on the actual date..."

"I'll just tell her you're busy...I didn't even want you to come...remember last time?" John remembered the previous time Sherlock had accompanied him on a date. Sarah had managed to save their lives.

"At least that was exciting!" Sherlock pointed out. "This would just be an evening of sitting around and watching you two being openly affectionate and people in public don't like to see that."

"It wouldn't kill you to be openly affectionate," John pointed out and Scarlett snorted loudly and Sherlock opened one eye and looked across the room.

"Something funny?" he called out to her.

"The idea of you being openly affectionate tickled me," Scarlett shrugged as she continued cooking.

"I don't think it is even funny," Sherlock said. "Considering it is something that will never happen."

"That's why it's funny," Scarlett responded and then sighed to herself, thinking of the pregnancy test in her room.

"Anyway," John shrugged. "I'll just tell her that Scarlett's snowed under at work."

"It's more realistic for me to be snowed under with work," Sherlock replied. "But then again, if there are no psychopaths out there then that statement may not be correct."

"I don't know," John replied. "There's one psychopath I know of."

"Sarah when she can't get her own way?" Sherlock checked sarcastically. "I'll have to tell her that."

"I was implying you," John replied.

"Did you not pick up on my sarcastic tone?" Sherlock asked him. "And I'm not a psychopath John," Sherlock drawled, "just a sociopath."

...

"You hardly touched your tea," Sherlock informed Scarlett as she sat in an armchair, watching the TV mindlessly as she did so, wondering how to sneak off and do the test, and then wondering if she wanted to. John had moved off to bed, leaving Sherlock in the other armchair, his eyes looking at Scarlett whilst she watched the American Sitcom.

"I'm not hungry," Scarlett responded. "I was snacking a lot today at work."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Sherlock asked her. "You don't snack, Scarlett, you have one granola bar at approximately eleven twenty seven and then dinner at one. You pride yourself on maintaining a certain weight. Snacking is not you."

"You sound a little like a stalker," Scarlett informed him, still looking at the TV and not answering his question.

"So what is wrong?" Sherlock asked her. "I have multiple ideas."

"Then why don't you share them with me?" Scarlett asked him.

"There are too many to rattle off and besides, you get annoyed when I tell you things about yourself," Sherlock informed her.

"Do I?" Scarlett asked before folding her legs under chin as her blonde hair fell around her shoulders, blocking Sherlock from looking at her.

"If you're going to be unsocial then I shan't bother and you can continue in your silent mood," Sherlock told her.

"You won't be able to leave it," Scarlett said, running a hand through her hair.

"And you won't be able to resist telling me," Sherlock said. "I'll give it half an hour."

"Don't bother," Scarlett sighed and sat up straight, knowing she had to tell him. Knowing it was her fault she could be pregnant.

"Do continue..." Sherlock urged her.

"I didn't take a pill Sherlock," Scarlett said. "I...the morning after we...well...you know..."

"You can say that we had sex Scarlett," Sherlock promised her. "It isn't a taboo word."

"Anyway...I didn't take my pill the next morning..." she said and Sherlock put two and two together.

"And?" was the only word he choked out.

"I had to wait twenty one days before taking a test." She said and Sherlock counted up the days since they had slept together.

"That would be today," he whispered.

"I know," she said. "I haven't taken the test yet."

"Do you have one?" Sherlock asked and she nodded.

"I suppose," Sherlock managed to croak out, shock and nerves getting to him, "you should take the test."


	43. Chapter 43

"I feel sick," Scarlett complained as she and Sherlock sat on the sofa, the pregnancy test still in its box, sat on his coffee table, looking at them with expectancy. Scarlett hadn't brought herself to do the test and Sherlock hadn't even been able to think of what he would do if the result was positive.

"You feel anxious," Sherlock replied. "Not sick."

"I don't want to know..." Scarlett worried.

"It's best if you did," Sherlock said, his voice raspy as he spoke. "That way it won't come as a shock when you begin to become fat."

"But what about...well..." Scarlett hinted, wanting to add the word 'us' desperately onto the end. Sherlock just simply shrugged.

"You mean us," he stated. "And I don't know. But if you had managed to take your pill then we wouldn't be in this situation."

"I know," she said, trying not to cry at his harsh and blunt tone. "I know it's my fault...I told you something and I was wrong...I'm sorry Sherlock..."

"Well an apology isn't going to solve this mess now, is it?" the rhetorical question chimed in their ears.

"If...Sherlock...if you don't want me to stay here...then I can find somewhere else..." she informed him and managed to bring herself to look onto his cool and calm face. His cheekbones seemed more pronounced as if he was sucking his cheeks in, his lips were pursed and his eyes were cold and staring at the pregnancy test.

"Just go and do the test," he told her and she looked at him, wondering why he hadn't said anything about her previous query.

"Sherlock..." she began to speak but he shook his head.

"Do the test. Then we'll talk." He promised her, still not looking at her. Scarlett quickly grabbed the packet and walked briskly into the bathroom, slamming the door behind as she went and then beginning to cry as her hands shook whilst opening the packet.

Meanwhile, Sherlock jumped from his seat on the sofa and climbed over his coffee table, pacing on the floor near the fireplace, his hands running wildly through his hair as he heard her sniff from the bathroom. He didn't know what to think. He didn't want a child. Scarlett and he were too soon into their relationship to begin even contemplating setting up a family. Hell, even if they were thirty years into their relationship then he would consider that too early to be contemplating a family. His job was what he lived for. But if the test was positive...then what? Would he accept responsibility? Probably. He couldn't simply just simply abandon her on her own when he was clearly the father. He would make sure she would be alright.

"Have you done it?" he asked, resting his hands onto his hips when he saw the bathroom door open but she didn't appear from it. Quickly, he rushed up to the bathroom and saw she was stood at the sink, cold water splashing onto her face.

"We have to wait," she informed him. "It shouldn't be too long now."

"Well," Sherlock clasped his hands together and settled himself down on the closed toilet seat, looking at the pregnancy test which was settled on the side of the bathtub. "You've certainly added something into my life."

"Hmm," Scarlett agreed slowly. "What if it is positive?"

"Then that means you're pregnant," Sherlock informed her and she simply just shook her head in complete and utter disarray.

"What do I do?" she asked him. "To have a child...it's a big thing...and...we're only...I can't do it."

"Yes you can." Sherlock informed her. "If needs be then yes you can do it. What else are you supposed to do?"

"I don't know," Scarlett replied and settled down onto the floor, her back resting against the panel of the bathtub as she looked to the side at the test.

"If after this...you don't want me anymore...then I would-"

"Shut up." Sherlock demanded her.

"Sorry?"

"I said shut up," he replied. "You're in shock and talking irrationally."

"But you don't want a child...not like this anyway...you said so...you have work..." Scarlett blathered and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I didn't want many things in life," Sherlock replied.

"What does that mean?" Scarlett asked him.

"It means," he drawled, "that I don't plan to burden all of this upon your shoulders when I suppose some of it is partly down to my fault."

"It's done," Scarlett suddenly began to panic and she looked at the result, her mouth hanging open slightly as she looked at the result and her eyes began to glitter before she looked up to a paling Sherlock.

"It's negative," she informed him. "I'm not...we're not..."

"Well," Sherlock said, his face still emotionless as he stood up and looked at the test result. "That's enough excitement for one night."

"I'm not pregnant," Scarlett couldn't help but smile slightly at the news. Sherlock helped her up from the floor and took the pregnancy test from her and threw it into the bin.

"Tea?" he asked calmly.

Two weeks later

Scarlett could not think of what to buy Sherlock for Christmas. What did one buy their boyfriend who thought the ideal Christmas gift would be parts of a dead body? And so she wandered around the shops in London, not knowing what shops to even begin looking in. She had managed to buy herself some new clothes from River Island but nothing for no one else. She had picked up the boxes of chocolates Mr High had ordered in for his staff and some of his biggest clients. And they weren't cheap either. Scarlett continued to walk around and noted a cot in one shop and she looked at it, a vacant smile entered her face as she continued walking. She couldn't help but think how she was fortunate not to be pregnant. One day...she may want it. And then she suddenly stopped.

"Eight days," she commented to herself as she stood on the middle of the pavement and looked down at her stomach. She was eight days late for her period. But the test had come back negative...surely the stress was just making her late. Nothing else. It couldn't be...and yet she managed to rush off to the clinic John was working at.

...

"I need to make an appointment!" Scarlett demanded as she stood at the counter for the clinic and the receptionist looked up at her.

"When for?"

"Now," Scarlett said and the woman raised her eyebrows at Scarlett.

"You have to book in advance," she informed her.

"But this is really important. Like life or death important," Scarlett wheezed out, people in the waiting room beginning to look at her.

"Life or death?" the woman quizzed her again.

"Look," she said. "I need an appointment with Dr Watson."

"He's fully booked," she informed Scarlett who slammed her fists onto the counter in annoyance.

"Okay, here's the deal, recently I thought I was pregnant because I forgot to take my pill the next morning after having sex and anyway, I thought I was off the hook because I took a pregnancy test and it came back negative but now I'm late for my period and so I am extremely confused as to what is going on. And the possible father...well...let's just say he doesn't want kids. End of. And that's because he is some form of detective and puts his work first and everything else second and so if I am having a child than I need to know as soon as possible and I need it to be John because he lives with us and he knows what I went through last time with my boyfriend and so he has the complete story. So please, just do me a favour and call him out here because none of you have any idea what it could be like raising a highly functioning sociopath's child!"

And with that, Scarlett Jenson managed to make the room fall into silence.

"Scarlett?" a sudden voice asked and the blonde turned around to see John stood with a clipboard in his hands as he looked puzzled at the young woman.

"I think it's the mental asylum this one needs Dr Watson," the receptionist informed John and Scarlett turned to glare at her.

"Can you ask Sarah if she can cover some of my patients?" John asked the receptionist. "I need to talk with Miss Jenson."

Scarlett quickly rushed forward and took hold of John's outstretched arm as he led her down into his office.

"Everything you said back there..." John motioned to the door.

"I'm eight days late John," she told him. "What does that mean?"

"It means," John sighed, "that you could possibly be in trouble once again."

...

So...what do you think? Deep down you should know the answer really! Anyway...thank you to all of my lovely reviewers and thank you for sticking with the story! More to come tonight or tomorrow, depending on work and social stuff!


	44. Chapter 44

"And you're positive that the test came back negative?" John checked with Scarlett as she sat opposite him, her head in her hands as she suddenly ran a hand through her hair and looked up at him.

"It was negative," she assured him. "Sherlock was there and he checked it too...and that man has a ridiculous IQ."

"Don't flatter him," John said and he handed Scarlett a cup and she looked down onto it and John sighed at her vacant expression.

"You have to go and urinate in it," he told her. "Just through that door," he pointed over to the door in his room and Scarlett removed her blue military coat and walked through the door whilst John sat back and rested his hand onto his forehead and wondered what the hell was going on. Four minutes later, Scarlett returned into the main room with the cup and John took it from her hands and began to test. He remained silent as Scarlett sat on the edge of her seat, wondering what she was going to do if it was positive. Should she tell Sherlock? Of course she should...he would be the father. And yet the thought of telling him scared her to death. She had done it once...surely she could do it again?

"Just lie down on the bed," John suddenly informed Scarlett.

"Why?" she asked. "Is it positive? Why else would you need me to lie down on a bed? I assume you want to check my stomach..."

"I just need to make sure Scarlett," John told the young woman as she hopped onto the bed and began to lift her plain white vest top up to reveal her stomach as John rested his cold hands onto her skin, causing her to shiver as he did so.

"Sorry," John whispered.

"It's fine," Scarlett replied and tossed her blonde hair from her face. The rest of the ten minutes was spent with John checking her blood pressure and her weight until he finally came to determine the result.

"John," Scarlett begged as he checked once again. "Just tell me."

"You're pregnant Scarlett," John came out with it. "You're nearly one month into the pregnancy."

"And you're positive?" Scarlett checked and John nodded at her.

"One hundred percent," he promised her. "Sometimes the home pregnancy tests aren't always accurate Scarlett...they can give you a false negative or a false positive."

"Apparently so," she drawled. "Sherlock's going to have a fit."

"When are you going to tell him?"

"When I manage to get the courage to do so," Scarlett said and then sighed loudly.

...

Scarlett stood on the pavement, her hand resting against the silver railing as she looked onto the Thames aimlessly. She knew she should be getting back to Sherlock to tell him. But she couldn't imagine walking back into the flat and telling him she was pregnant. She ran a hand through her blonde curls which was what she did when she was nervous.

"If you continue to stand here then you may catch pneumonia," a sudden voice spoke and Scarlett turned to her left to see Sherlock stood there. He had his hands like hers, resting on the bars, his hands covered in gloves. His grey coat flared out behind him as his hands held tightly onto the bars.

"How did you know I was here?" Scarlett asked him, both of them looking onto the Thames.

"I narrowed down your location quite easily. You don't wander off too far when you go out shopping for you dislike paying for a cab to bring you home and so that left me with a two mile radius." Sherlock informed her.

"And you came out looking for me?" Scarlett asked and Sherlock shrugged.

"It's almost nine at night Scarlett," he informed her. "I haven't eaten and was getting hungry."

"And so instead of cooking yourself a meal you thought you'd wander the streets of London and search for someone who could cook for you?" she asked him bitterly and he simply just shrugged.

"I don't really eat when I'm on a case anyway," Sherlock said.

"I know that." Scarlett agreed.

"But I cracked it," Sherlock informed her. "Earlier on today."

"Oh right," Scarlett spoke. "Difficult, was it?"

"Boring if I am to be honest," Sherlock drawled, leaning back slightly, his hands on the bars to keep him from falling. "Why the police even needed to consult me for such ridiculously dull cases is beyond anyone's powers of understanding."

"God you're so cocky," Scarlett murmured.

"And you're terrible at making small talk in an attempt to distract me from the truth," Sherlock responded. "We all have our faults."

"How do you know?" Scarlett whispered, she had allowed her eyes to go wide and glance quickly up at Sherlock before looking back onto the murky water.

"John came back with your shopping. Managed to blunder on about how you had dropped them off because they were too heavy but he wasn't fooling anyone." Sherlock spoke. "Especially not me, truth be told I don't even know why he bothers sometimes."

"Sherlock!" Scarlett snapped at his annoying blabbering.

"You're hormonal. I get it," he assured her that he knew the reason for her annoyance towards his babbling and she rolled her eyes in his direction. "But I knew seven days ago."

"How?"

"Because every time you're on...well...you know...the time of the month...you circle it on the calendar to keep note...but you didn't this time." He informed her and both sets of eyes looked into each other.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Scarlett asked him. "If you truly knew?"

"I didn't know how to tell you," he replied honestly.

"So what happens now?" Scarlett asked him and he simply just shrugged.

"I've never given birth to a child before so I don't have the foggiest," he informed her.

"Well I have no idea either," Scarlett replied.

"I thought you had that thing know as a mother's instinct?" he quizzed her and she snorted and then looked back onto the Thames.

"I'll be damned if I know what it is," she replied to him. "And even if I did I imagine you would go against my beliefs."

"Normally because they're wrong," he informed her. "But standing out here in the cold isn't going to help you or your baby."

"You said 'your baby'," Scarlett informed him and he raised a brow in confusion to her.

"Well this is your child, is it not?" Sherlock asked her and Scarlett simply just pursed her lips and then smiled sadly, shaking her head and looking at Sherlock.

"No..." she said. "It's not just mine..." she informed him. "But maybe it would be best if it was."

"What are you trying to say?" Sherlock asked her and she simply just looked at him.

"You don't want this baby Sherlock," Scarlett informed him and he didn't protest, not wanting to feed her a lie. "And I didn't want this baby...but...now that I know I have it inside of me...I do want it...I can't explain."

"May you please just spit it out Scarlett? Your ramblings aren't helping." Sherlock told her.

"The thing is," she began, "you don't want this. You want to go off and come and go as you please on cases and having a pregnant woman around isn't going to help you do that because you'll feel burdened to help her...because despite the fact that you're an arse you're also a gentleman."

"So you think that you should do this on your own?" he clarified. "You're trying to be brave and noble and do what others want you to do. The right thing if you prefer. But bravery is just another word for stupidity."

"What else can I do Sherlock?" Scarlett asked him, her voice curt.

"You can come back home with me," Sherlock said softly, looking down into her eyes. "Because I am not going to abandon you when you're with a baby. It's morally wrong of me to do so."

"It's our baby Sherlock," she told him. "Mine and yours..."

"I am quite aware of that considering you definitely haven't been having an affair," he assured her. "What kind of person doesn't help a pregnant woman through a difficult time?"

"You're not just a person Sherlock," Scarlett informed him. "I truly do love you...many think it is mad that I do...but if you can't accept this child as yours than I don't know if I can stay with you."

"I know it is mine!" he snapped at her. "I am well aware I am the one who helped get you pregnant! I just...I don't know," he huffed. "I need to think about this."

"And I can give you time Sherlock," Scarlett told him. "But if I am to go through this on my own...then...well..."

"You'd survive," Sherlock promised her. "You're strong."

"Not that strong," she whispered.

"Damn it Scarlett," Sherlock whispered. "Why couldn't you have just taken your pill?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I was stupid..."

"I won't disagree with you on that statement." Sherlock replied curtly and then turned on his heel and began walking away from her.

"Where are you going?" Scarlett asked him as she stood in the wind, her hair blowing from her face as Sherlock turned to look at her for a moment and he simply just shook his head and pulled his brown coat around him.

"I need to think," he said. "And your constant going on isn't helping me."

"Don't you dare!" Scarlett suddenly snapped at him. "Don't you dare blame you're indecisiveness on me!"

"It is your fault we are even in this mess!" Sherlock snapped back.

"It takes two Sherlock! Or did you not remember the reproductive system back at school?" she yelled.

"You told me we would be fine Scarlett!" Sherlock replied. "I trusted you...and look where that got me?"

"With a girlfriend who is up the duff," she clarified blandly.

"Precisely." Sherlock muttered and began walking away again.

"I haven't finished with you!" Scarlett called after him. "Sherlock!"


	45. Chapter 45

Scarlett stood still for a moment and watched Sherlock's retreating figure in the darkness. Her hands balled into fists as she stood and watched him. She didn't want to do this alone. But what other choice would she have if Sherlock was distancing himself from their child? She didn't want her child to have an alienated father. Scarlett quickly began to run after Sherlock, her heels clicking on the ground as she did so. As she approached, she outstretched an arm and managed to wrap her hand around his skinny arm and forcefully turn him to look at her.

"I told you that we were not finished," she informed him through gritted teeth and he just looked down at her.

"And I told you that I just need time," he replied. "Or are you too dense to understand my requests?"

"No," she snapped back. "I just have selective hearing."

"So what?" Sherlock asked her and she shook her head at him.

"What do you mean so what? I want to know if I have to raise this child on my own Sherlock! I want to know if you even plan to make an effort to want it to be yours!" she yelled at him.

"All of these things which you want to know Scarlett are questions that I don't have the answers to! I don't know what I want! But I certainly don't want to be stood here in the middle of public rowing with you on a cold night!" Sherlock responded back to her.

"Fine," Scarlett raised her hands in surrender as she looked onto the street. "I'll give you time Sherlock...but if you can't accept this baby then you can't accept me either..."

"Don't make empty threats which you can't keep," he warned her and she backed off to the road and hailed a cab whilst Sherlock stood watching her.

"It's not an empty threat Sherlock," she promised him. "The baby and I are a package Sherlock...there's nothing more to it."

And with that, Scarlett climbed into the cab and asked for 221B Baker Street, staring out the window at an emotionless Sherlock as she did so.

...

Sherlock continued walking briskly along the streets of London, ending up in the heart of the city as he thought about what Scarlett had just told him. Of course he should have seen it coming. He should have known that Scarlett was indeed a package deal. She was a carrying a child. Correction; she was carrying _his _child. Sherlock groaned to himself, wondering what the best thing to do would be. He truly liked Scarlett...she was someone who wasn't scared to speak her mind and she wasn't some dozy airhead although she had the looks of one. Sherlock shook his head and then continued thinking. He couldn't abandon Scarlett. He couldn't make her be the one to raise his child single handed. He was the father. It was only right for him to accept the responsibility also. And besides, he knew she would be in need of help during her pregnancy and he had made her go through so much that it was time for him to return the favour. Maybe he would feel differently when the child was born. People say that you change...but for Sherlock Holmes, change was something he was not intrigued by.

...

"Did you tell him?" John asked Scarlett when she walked back into the flat. The secretary nodded and dropped her keys onto the coffee table and sat on the sofa, looking at John.

"I told him that if he couldn't bring himself to accept the baby then he can't accept me either," Scarlett informed John. "And all he did was watch me climb into a cab and say it was an empty threat."

"Scarlett..." John began but she shook her head to stop him.

"I know," she whispered. "He's Sherlock Holmes...he doesn't cope well with things like this...and I know he never signed up for having this baby. But I didn't either John...but I need him..."

"And he'll be there," John promised her. "He loves you...he just needs time to realise how he feels."

"And it's all very well him caring for me," Scarlett agreed. "But what if the baby is born and he can't stand to look at it? What if he thinks it has ruined his life? Or that he has to stop and help me at home instead of terrorise London?"

"He won't," John promised her. "He'll manage to do all the things he is good at and help you too...he just needs air to think about it."

"I don't want to be a single mother John," Scarlett asked. "I want to have a normal life...I don't know what one of them is...my parents died when I was young and Lee had to raise me...and now meeting Sherlock...well I know life will never be normal but I just want to be a normal family."

...

Sherlock walked back into 221B Baker Street in the early hours of the morning, thinking everyone would be asleep. But for once he thought wrong. The lights in the living room were still on and he found Scarlett sat on the sofa, her head resting against his cushions. She had brought out her duvet from the bedroom and was curled into it. Sherlock gently perched himself onto the armchair and looked over at her sleeping form, his hands lacing themselves together as he watched her.

"I know you're watching me," she suddenly murmured. "It's most off putting."

"Why else would you be sleeping in here if you weren't going to wait for me to arrive home?" he asked her and she finally prised her eyes open but remained lying down, looking back at Sherlock.

"You've been gone a long time," Scarlett commented.

"It was a long thought process which required a long walk," Sherlock responded.

"Oh," she whispered back to him. It seemed that the pair of them had taken the time to calm down and think things through properly.

"I don't want a child Scarlett," Sherlock informed her and she sighed, beginning to feel herself crying. She would have to do it alone. He didn't want her. "But...I don't want to leave you by yourself because I know that the thing in there is half me and half you...so...I'm going to help you through it Scarlett...I'm going to share the responsibility with you..."

"Even though you don't want this?" she asked him in a whisper and he shrugged.

"I may change my mind as time progresses." He informed her. "But the thought of you leaving and never seeing you again is not one which is particularly entertaining my mind."

"So you're not going to abandon me?" Scarlett checked and Sherlock shook his head.

"What kind of a man would I be if I did that?" he wrinkled his nose. "Even if staying here means I have to hold your hair back from the toilet as you vomit then I shall do it. Or if it even means that I have to watch you develop cravings for some God awful food then I shall do it. Or if I have to listen to you drone on about how fat you're getting-"

"I see your point," Scarlett cut him off and he smirked slightly.

"I suppose," Sherlock said. "What I'm trying to say is that, as much as I begrudge it, I'm here to help you."

"Thank you Sherlock," Scarlett said.

"You also have to know that my cases come first too Scarlett," Sherlock warned her.

"I know that...I don't know what you'd do without them."

"Rot, I imagine," Sherlock detested the thought. "Anyway, I plan to go to bed now that the air has been cleared."

Sherlock stood up and Scarlett did the same, but before she picked her duvet up, Sherlock handed her something from his coat pocket and Scarlett took it and looked down onto it.

"Women like that sentimental type of thing don't they?" he checked with her as she looked at the gift he had just given her. "You know...'baby's first present' and all that?"

"You bought a teddy Sherlock..." Scarlett said. It was a small brown little thing which was smiling up at her as she couldn't help but smile at Sherlock.

"I didn't think you'd appreciate me buying a skull for the child to sleep with," he couldn't help but smirk as Scarlett hit him lightly around the arm with the head of the teddy.

...

A/N: Possibly this shall be the only update of the day! I don't know, maybe get another one out tonight depending on how my afternoon goes. This has got to be one of the hardest chapters for me to have ever written because I don't think I could have seen Sherlock abandoning Scarlett when he knows she needs him and he also likes her but I can't see him just accepting the child straight away because it is a big thing to come to terms with. Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviews and in the next chapter I plan to bring in Mycroft! Interesting I hope! So please review!


	46. Chapter 46

"Scarlett...Scarlett..." Sherlock nudged the sleeping figure next to him as the girl protested at seven the next morning, her arm draping over Sherlock's pyjama covered stomach as he simply just rolled his eyes at her and she mumbled.

"Humph..." she complained. She hadn't gotten to sleep until about three in the morning and so what did he truly expect after a four hour rest?

"You need to wake up or you're going to be late for work," he told her and then felt her head roll onto his shoulder and her breath tickle his neck. Sherlock simply just muttered under his breath and then pushed her body from his and climbed from the bed, reaching for his dressing gown and sliding into it before noticing how she had taken to using his pillow, her eyes still closed.

"Scarlett," Sherlock complained at her. "You do realise that if you don't plan to move now then you shall be late for work and then it shall somehow be my fault for that occurrence even though I did inform you that you needed to wake up?"

"Shut up," Scarlett whispered and grabbed the duvet, pulling it closer around her body. Sherlock shook his head at her and then moved out into the hallway.

"I'll fetch my violin then, shall I?" he asked her as he walked away and then he heard the faint mumbling of her swearing. With a knowing smirk, he flicked the switch on the kettle and began to place cups down onto the worktop, the sudden realisation of last night hitting him. He was going to be a father whether he liked it or not. Of course he had to wonder if the teddy bear was slightly over the top for him, but, he had to prove that he did care about Scarlett...and...well...he would obviously have to care about the child. After all, it was to be his.

"Morning," a sudden voice said and Sherlock felt slender arms work around his waist and a head rest on his back, just next to his shoulder blade as he began to pour the boiling water into cups.

"You seem much more responsive," Sherlock informed Scarlett and the girl just simply shrugged.

"The realisation that you could possibly deafen me made me more alert," she murmured.

"Well on that violin it is possible...it is still not correct," he complained and she rolled her eyes.

"You're unappeasable," she whispered. "So are we still alright?"

"I am completely fine," Sherlock told her.

"I meant...well..." Scarlett didn't know what to say as Sherlock began the stirring of a spoon in his tea.

"You meant are we okay after everything we discussed last night," Sherlock stated. "And did the fact that I already told you I won't abandon you not appease your curiosity?"

"I just wanted to make sure Sherlock," Scarlett told him. "It's a big thing."

"So you keep telling me," Sherlock muttered and drank some of his tea.

"I'd best be getting ready for work," Scarlett said, tapping her hand gently onto Sherlock's stomach before she moved over to the bedroom again and left Sherlock stood looking after her.

...

"Two visits in less than a month," Sherlock commented when he opened the front door at quarter to five in the evening to see his brother stood there, a knowing smile was plastered on his face as he looked at Sherlock. "Should I be honoured? Actually no," Sherlock drawled, "I'm more disturbed to be honest with you. And disappointed, you didn't even bring food with you this time."

"Daddy Sherlock, dear brother?" Mycroft spoke and Sherlock's face remained emotionless as he looked at his brother on his doorstep.

"It would appear so," Sherlock spoke. "I would ask how you know but it seems that you have people all over who are watching my every move."

"Well," Mycroft shrugged, "when you're little girlfriend runs into a clinic and demands to be seen by a Dr Watson then news spreads when she was in hysterics."

"Such a fountain of knowledge, aren't you Mycroft?" Sherlock replied sarcastically. "So what can I do for you?"

"Well I have a case I need you to see to," he told his little brother. "And also to gloat."

"You've openly admitted that you're about to gloat?" Sherlock checked. "How petty of you."

"I did tell you Sherlock," he chuckled as Sherlock decided to take the conversation indoors, moving up the steps to the living room and settling himself down into the armchair, twirling his gun in his hand as Mycroft remained stood opposite him, an umbrella in his hands in case it rained on him.

"I hate to tell you _dear brother_," Sherlock said sarcastically, "that I am extremely busy."

"Decorating for a nursery?" Mycroft asked and Sherlock scowled.

"Actually no," Sherlock replied. "I have far more interesting things on my mind than such mundane things like decorating."

"So what do you think to all of this then Sherlock?" Mycroft asked. "The only man I could never imagine being a father."

"Such a lovely compliment," Sherlock drawled. "And how I feel is none of your concern."

"So have you thrown her out?" Mycroft asked.

"She is called Scarlett," Sherlock replied. "And she is still living with me as she also does pay the rent and so is entitled to stay here."

"Bit docile though, do you not think?" Mycroft asked. "That the girl forgot to take her pill? I mean...are you sure the girl isn't just after money from you Sherlock?"

"You're amazing Mycroft," irony was laden in Sherlock's voice. "The way you come in here and then make completely wrong assumptions is just ridiculous."

"I was only wondering Sherlock," Mycroft replied with a shrug. "But I did warn you about the birds and the bees Sherlock..."

"Didn't you just?" Sherlock replied, sounding bored. "Now, the real reason why you're here if you would Mycroft because I'd prefer for you not to stay too long."

"So you're interested?" Mycroft checked.

"Enthralled," Sherlock replied, sounding anything but.

"Sherlock!" a sudden new voice called into the flat and Sherlock groaned in his head as he saw Scarlett enter the doorway to the eyes of Mycroft.

"Miss Jenson," Mycroft greeted her. "I do believe that a congratulations is in order...carrying Sherlock's child...I really can't imagine much more of a hardship."

"Well," Scarlett replied. "I can't think of anyone else I would rather have a child with...I mean, can you imagine the brains this one is going to have?" Scarlett patted her stomach. "I'm looking at an Oxford education already."

"On your salary?" Mycroft grinned and Scarlett simply just shrugged.

"But if their uncle is going to be running the government then I am sure he would pull a few strings? Families do that for each other, don't they?" she pushed Mycroft and Sherlock couldn't help but smirk at how she was pressing his buttons.

"We're not related," Mycroft informed her.

"But this one inside of me is going to be related to you," Scarlett replied.

"Apparently so," Mycroft responded. "And marriage isn't on the cards?"

"It's a piece of paper," Scarlett shrugged off. "I know Sherlock isn't going anywhere," she said, but it sounded more like a warning to Sherlock as she stood there and her eyes narrowed in his direction.

"A child out of wedlock," Mycroft shook his head.

"And a child in wedlock is still the same Mycroft," Sherlock replied. "Now is there a reason as to why you're here or are you just trying to provoke a reaction from Scarlett and I because, if so, you're failing terribly."

"I'll send a car for you tomorrow morning at seven on the dot," Mycroft replied.

"I didn't say I would take the case," Sherlock replied.

"Oh you will do," Mycroft said as he walked away. "If you want your child to get into Oxford that is."

Sherlock and Scarlett heard the door to 221B Baker Street slam shut before they spoke.

"I'm sorry Sherlock," Scarlett said to him. "But you're brother is an arsehole."

"Apologies not needed," Sherlock promised her. "I know that for myself...of course if he thinks I shall be going anywhere with him tomorrow then he is delusional."

"But you have no case on," Scarlett removed her coat and hung it up before taking off her patent heels.

"And I'll find something instead of looking through his," Sherlock told her.

"I hope so," she pursed her lips. "Every night I come home I worry if you've destroyed anything else of mine."

"No need," Sherlock promised her. "I've started on John's possessions."

"I'm sure he loves you for it," Scarlett mumbled. "And...well...I need to ask you something..."

"No I'm not leaving you for the millionth time Scarlett. I don't know how many times you would like me to say it for the very sentence is becoming boring to speak aloud."

"Work is having an office party Sherlock," she told him. "On Christmas Eve...and...will you come with me?"

"As in a formal dinner and dancing? The usual type of posh party?" he checked with her and she nodded.

"Well?" she asked him and he shook his head.

"No," he said. "Not my area."

"Please," she pleaded with him. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Really?" he raised his eyebrows suggestively and she rolled her eyes.

"You're coming Sherlock," she told him. "That's all there is to it."

"Make me," he folded his arms childishly.

"Oh don't worry," she whispered, "I will."

...

A/N: So I managed to get another chapter in today. I know it's late but it is out! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and hope you are all enjoying the story!


	47. Chapter 47

"Sherlock," Scarlett spoke his name, "your brother wasn't lying when he said he would send a car for you this morning."

"I am well aware he wasn't lying," Sherlock informed Scarlett as he lie on the sofa, wearing a normal white shirt and jacket like usual. "But if he thinks I am willingly going to go and help him with some case in Botswana then he is quite mistaken."

"Botswana?" Scarlett's eyes went wide and Sherlock rolled his.

"I was just using that country as an example Scarlett," Sherlock told her. "He could want me to go to any number of places in the world."

"Even though it is Christmas in a few days?" she checked and Sherlock sat up and looked over at her.

"Why does everyone have a perception that the world comes to a standstill on that particular day? Things still happen and life goes on...I fail to understand why some people celebrate it." He informed her and she simply just shook her head.

"Regardless of your beliefs," Scarlett told him. "You're still coming to the Christmas Party with me tomorrow night and we are still celebrating Christmas and I'm going to cook a Christmas dinner and you're going to sit and watch crappy Christmas TV with me all afternoon."

"I can barely contain my excitement," Sherlock murmured.

"Look...I have to be off to work...just...go and see what your brother wants," she told him and Sherlock simply just shook his head.

"I shall not be the one to give into his requests," Sherlock said and he stood up, walking over to the window and looking onto the street where a black car was sat across the road. Scarlett looked around the living room and managed to locate her coat and bag before she looked back at Sherlock.

"I'll see you tonight!" she called over to him and he nodded once, his eyes still trained on the outside world.

"Bye then," Scarlett murmured and she moved out of the flat. Sherlock watched as her blonde hair bobbed along the pavement and how she managed to stay upright on some of the ice before managing to hail a cab. As much as she begrudged the fare, there was no way she was going to risk slipping and hurting the baby. The car across the road had been there for approximately eighty two minutes and there was no sign of letting up. Sherlock took a deep breath and thought of the thrill of the case which could be involved and then the thought of Mycroft put him off and resumed his spot on the sofa.

...

"Miss Jenson," a voice spoke when Scarlett left work that evening. She was walking out onto the pavement in search of a cab when she saw a man stood to her left. She looked up and then groaned silently.

"Mr Holmes," she returned the pleasantries. "What can I do for you?"

"My brother...I'd like to know if he is well," Mycroft informed her. "It seems he isn't picking up his phone and I would hate for him to be unwell."

"Sherlock was perfectly fine when I left him this morning," Scarlett told Mycroft. "Maybe he is just trying to hint something?"

"And what could that be Miss Jenson?"

"That he doesn't really want to take your case?" she suggested and Mycroft chuckled lightly and hailed a cab for Scarlett, opening the door for the young woman to climb into.

"Make sure you remind him his child's education could depend on this," Mycroft told her before setting the cab on its way.

...

"You cannot be serious," Sherlock snapped at Scarlett as she stood in the bedroom on Christmas Eve in her white lace dress and nude heels as she looked at Sherlock with a pleading face.

"I'm begging you Sherlock," she told him. "The entire firm from all over London is going to be there and it's a fancy reception."

"Are you saying that I don't look presentable now?" he motioned to his purple shirt with the blazer pulled over it as Scarlett sighed loudly.

"You look like you normally do Sherlock...just put the tie on and then we can go...I don't want to be late and I don't want to turn up on my own." She told him dangerously as she grabbed her clutch and walked out of the bedroom, leaving Sherlock to his own leisure as she saw John in the living room.

"Bloody hell," John whispered when he saw Sherlock appear a few seconds after Scarlett, his hands moving a tie around his collar as he buttoned up his blazer and then looked at Scarlett.

"Is that more to your satisfaction?" he snapped at the young woman and she rolled her eyes.

"Yes Sherlock," she said. "It was like dressing a child," she informed John.

"Well I've certainly never seen him wear a tie before," John informed her. "Are you feeling alright Sherlock?"

"Now is not the time for your witty remarks John," Sherlock told his friend.

"I actually can't think of a better time," John replied with a sly smile on his face.

"How about you use them tomorrow, when Sarah comes round for dinner?" Sherlock suggested and Scarlett's mouth fell open and she looked over at Dr Watson.

"You never told me," she accused him and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"He was going to," Sherlock told her. "He just didn't know the best way to tell a hormonal pregnant woman that she was going to need more food in."

"John," Scarlett complained. "Nowhere will be open tomorrow...it's Christmas."

"I'll go and get some more food tonight," John told her.

"Fine," she said. "I suppose I should meet the elusive Sarah."

"You're really not missing out," Sherlock told her in a whisper.

...

"Well," Sherlock said. "They've certainly lashed out on your client's money." He took in the sight of the room; large round tables for eight lined the room, dressed in crisp white tablecloths. The bar was bustling with people ordering martinis and champagne. At one end there was a dance floor and it looked like a string quartet was about to strike up as other people walked into the room.

"Do you think you can play nice?" Scarlett asked Sherlock as she ordered two orange juices.

"I know that I can fake it," Sherlock told her and she rolled her eyes.

"Just...don't...do anything brash or insult anyone because a dress doesn't suit them or complain about the food because the meat isn't fully cooked or-"

"I get the message," Sherlock told her. "So I don't have permission to go over and tell that woman that the dress she is wearing does nothing for her figure?"

"Sherlock," Scarlett scolded him but a smile went onto her lips as she sipped her orange juice and hit him lightly on the chest with her bag as he couldn't help but grin down at her, ceases forming in his cheeks as he then sipped on his orange juice.

"Scarlett!" a sudden voice boomed and she looked to the side to see Daniel Fisher walking up to them. He was a new solicitor in the building and liked to pride himself on being a ladies' man. Of course, Scarlett knew he was just desperate but she didn't speak out against him. Mr High seemed to have taken a liking to him for some reason. As he walked over, a young brunette was plastered to his arm as she wobbled around in heels.

"I think someone has taken advantage of the free bar," Sherlock said as they turned their bodies to face the other young couple.

"Daniel," Scarlett greeted him. "This is Sherlock Holmes...Sherlock, this is Daniel Fisher, and he is a new solicitor for the firm."

Sherlock managed to extend a hand to the man and he took it, shaking it hard as Sherlock inclined his head.

"Nice to meet you," he managed to spit out.

"And you too Mr Holmes...I didn't even know Scarlett had a boyfriend...but now that she does I shan't make a move," he winked at Scarlett and she watched how his date never even flinched.

"Oh," he said, suddenly remembering his arm candy. "This is...Lucy...she's...well...she's a model..."

"Hi," she smiled and simply just raised an awkward hand in acknowledgement.

"So...what is it you do _Mr _Holmes?" Daniel asked and Scarlett simply just wrapped a hand around Sherlock's arm, begging silently for him not to say anything bad.

"I'm a consulting detective," Sherlock told him and he raised a brow.

"Is that a bloody made up job?" he chuckled and his date wrapped an arm over his shoulders.

"Well, yes," Sherlock said. "I suppose you could say so, considering I am the one who made it up."

"So...what is it you do?"

"I assist people when they need help...I deduce things about them and can read people and then help solve crimes because of it," Sherlock told him simply.

"You're psychic then?" he asked and Sherlock shook his head. "Read me," he demanded.

"I think we'd best be getting to our seats Sherlock," Scarlett said eagerly but Sherlock remained stuck in his spot as he looked over at Daniel.

"I can tell that because you have some form of model draped all over that you that the only way you could have won a girl so good looking is if you managed to impress her with your fancy lifestyle, however, considering you're only a trainee due to your young age I would say that is unlikely and she does look a few years older than you. Twenty seven I would say?" he looked at the model and she nodded to confirm. "Anyway, that means that she isn't willingly here because she could possibly do much better than some male who's voice has just broken and so that means that you paid her to accompany you tonight. You also made that obvious when you stumbled when trying to remember her name and so you really do not know who she is, and she didn't even make a move when you mentioned flirting with Scarlett which means it isn't serious. You just wanted a good looking girl with you tonight to impress your co-workers because you have confidence issues. Now why do you have confidence issues?" Sherlock mused for a moment. "Either you were the class geek at school and wanted to prove you're not a nobody now by bringing along an expensive escort, or you want to try and impress your boss, hope of promotion by showing off your imaginary wonderful life. Or you could have confidence issues because you have a small-"

"And that's enough," Scarlett said loudly whilst Daniel and Lucy remained silent.

"I wasn't finished," Sherlock told her and Scarlett grabbed onto his arm and began to lead him over to the table where she sat down and he sat next to her.

"I was going to say he had a small personality," Sherlock told her. "You really do need to pick your mind out the gutter."

"What I do need," she said, "is a stiff drink."

"In your state I wouldn't say that is wise," Sherlock told her and he suddenly felt his phone vibrate. Quickly, he pulled it out and answered it, talking to Lestrade which could only mean one thing.

"You have to go, don't you?" she asked him and he stood up, removing his tie and placing it into his jacket pocket.

"Lestrade needs me," he told her and she nodded.

"I'll walk you out," she said. "You can call me a cab out there too."

"Aren't you staying?" he asked and she shook her head.

"No," she replied. "Not alone."

"Come on then," he said and grabbed onto her hand as they dashed out into the cold night of London.

"Will you be back for Christmas?" she asked him and he shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. "If it is any conciliation then these cases Lestrade has called me on have been very easy."

"Just...be careful...okay?" she checked with him and he smirked to the side.

"I think our time of being careful has passed," he told her and she shook her head but smiled.

"You know what I mean," she told him and he wrapped an arm around her waist as he hailed a cab for her and it drew to a halt.

"I'm always careful," he said and Scarlett nodded as he opened the cab door for her.

"Sherlock..." she began but then she found herself suddenly leaning up and kissing him forcefully, her hands wrapping themselves into his black hair as he allowed his body to relax around her and his arms held her waist before he broke it off and looked down onto her as she smiled, her forehead still resting against his.

"Put her down!" the cabbie yelled.

Scarlett chuckled and Sherlock simply nodded at her as she climbed into the cab.

"Merry Christmas Sherlock," she said, before he shut the door. He watched her drive off in the cab before he muttered;

"Merry Christmas Scarlett."

...

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews my story! More to come later and leave your opinion!


	48. Chapter 48

"What have we got?" Sherlock asked Lestrade as soon as he walked into the penthouse apartment, his coat flaring out behind him as he purposefully walked up to the Inspector.

"Dead woman...she was in her late thirties, her husband found her when he came back from a night out in London. He's outside, still shaken up." Lestrade informed Sherlock and he took a look at the body and noted how her body have been shot three times in the head, a neat triangle pattern.

"This is a professional," Sherlock informed Lestrade. "No one could have shaken like this when performing an execution."

"How do you know it is an execution?"

"Quite clearly she couldn't have shot herself three times in the head Inspector," Sherlock informed him, kneeling on the bed beside the corpse and looking observantly at it.

"True," Lestrade muttered in agreement as Sherlock moved her hand and then pulled it back before moving the pillow which her hand was stuffed under and he pulled out a wad of letters.

"What are they?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"Bills..." Sherlock said, flicking through all the pieces of paper. "Lots of them too. It would appear the couple were in debt."

"What are you thinking?" Lestrade wondered as Sherlock finally stood up straight and rested his hands onto his hips as he looked onto the corpse.

"I think the wife didn't know about the bills...I think they were placed here to leave a message. Quite clearly the couple were in a lot of debt. You need to speak with the husband."

"Why would the bills be placed there purposefully?"

"I think this was a loan shark," Sherlock said stubbornly. "I don't think she knew anything about this at all...I think she was in the dark and her husband dealt with the bills. Look at her, fashionable clothes, well maintained facials...looks like botox to me. No, she didn't deal with the bills, her husband did. He didn't want to worry her over them so that he could keep her happy with her high flying lifestyle...so he went to a loan shark to get the money to clear the bills and obviously he couldn't pay the money back and this is revenge."

"That," Lestrade said, "is very accusing."

"It's true," Sherlock replied. "Go and talk to the husband."

"And what are you going to do?" Lestrade asked Sherlock. "It's Christmas Eve...you can't exactly investigate it."

"I remember reading about a similar case to this...execution style...I need to go to the morgue and check," Sherlock replied, pulling his gloves on as Lestrade looked at his watch.

"At eleven at night?"

"This is London," Sherlock allowed his arms to flap to the side as a grin fell onto his face. "And we may have a serial killer on our hands!"

...

"Oh," Molly suddenly gasped as she yawned loudly. Working in the morgue on Christmas Eve was not something which she had signed up for.

"Good evening Molly," Sherlock greeted her as she shut another body up in the morgue and looked at Sherlock.

"Technically Merry Christmas would be more appropriate," she told Sherlock and he checked his watch and shrugged slightly.

"There's nothing Merry when you're working with dead people, is there Molly?" he asked her and she began to play with her hair in her ponytail.

"I suppose not," she agreed. "What are you doing here? I thought you would be at home with you girlfriend."

"She's called Scarlett," Sherlock informed Molly. "And she's...well...we had an argument." Sherlock began his manipulation on the woman.

"Oh," she simply said.

"Truth be known Molly she is an insufferable woman sometimes," Sherlock said. "I'm working a case and she couldn't help but tell me that I should drop it because it is Christmas...I mean you understand Molly, work is important."

"Yes," she agreed hastily. "It is."

"And you're wearing mascara," Sherlock observed and Molly began to blink quickly as she nodded at Sherlock.

"I was supposed to go out earlier but I had to work late," she told him and he nodded, a small grin going onto his lips as she looked back at him.

"It's nice," he said and she smiled widely back.

...

"Morning," John said when Scarlett walked out into the living room and looked around dejectedly as John shook his head at her, understanding what was going through her head.

"Merry Christmas John," Scarlett smiled at him and straightened out her simple black dress as she looked at the small tree in the corner and the presents under the tree.

"Do you think he would mind if we opened them?" John asked her, a small grin on his face as she laughed once.

"I don't think he will have a say," she responded and the two of them dived into the pile like little children. John received nothing from Sherlock but Scarlett gave him a new shirt and tie set along with the new James Bond DVD he had been after. He had bought her multiple books and a gift voucher for Topshop. Just as she looked at the final two presents for Sherlock, John handed her another one.

"It's from Sherlock," he told her. "You did well."

"He...he actually bought me something?" she managed to gasp out.

"Apparently so," John said and handed her the box. She looked onto the tag on it and read it slowly.

_Don't say me stealing your laptop never brings good things._

_SH._

Scarlett opened up the large box and looked inside of it and then smiled as she pulled out one of the heels which she had placed onto favourites on her laptop. They were glittery and ever so tall. She smiled once before she noted something else was in the box. She then pulled out a coffee mug and looked at the note inside it.

_At least there will be one cup that no one else uses._

"He gave me my own cup..." she whispered. "He knows I was fed up of washing all of his..."

"Sentimental," John commented. "Well...slightly...anyway..."

...

"Sarah," John placed a hand onto the small of his girlfriend's back as he led her forward into the kitchen where Scarlett was looking at the text on her BlackBerry from Sherlock for the hundredth time, telling her he would be working late and didn't know when he would return. She placed a hand onto her stomach as she looked up at John who was showing Sarah into the kitchen. "This is Scarlett."

"So you're the elusive Scarlett," Sarah shook the younger woman's hand. "John has told me a lot about you."

"He's told me a lot about you too," Scarlett replied. "It's nice to meet you finally."

"And you too," Sarah replied. "So...you have to tell me...how did you get Sherlock to like you. I've known him for ages and I could swear he still dislikes me."

"That's not-" John began.

"Yes it is," Sarah cut him off as a sudden timer went off and Scarlett jumped slightly.

"That's the turkey done," she said. "Why don't you two take a seat whilst I dish up?"

"Are you sure?" John asked her and she smiled at him and nodded.

"I'm pregnant John, not incapable of movement," she assured him.

"What?" Sarah gasped. "You're pregnant?"

"John didn't mention it?" she asked her and Sarah shook her head.

"No...he didn't."

"You know Sherlock Holmes?" a sudden voice boomed and all three of them turned to look at a tall man who was stood in the doorway to the living room.

"Is this when we say no?" Sarah squeaked out and John grabbed onto her hand as they looked at the man who was holding a gun by his side. He wore a dark suit and his face was covered by a balaclava.

"Do you know Sherlock Holmes?" his voice boomed again as they all stood in a row behind the table and remained silent.

"Maybe," Scarlett spoke. "Maybe not." And then she reacted. The turkey which she held on her baking tray suddenly went flying from her hands as the turkey rose into the air and the baking tray distracted the man as it hit him weakly. John took his time to act as he picked up a chair and ran at the man with it. Sarah jumped back as the man toppled to the floor and the chair was chucked to the side, leaving the two men on the floor tousling. Scarlett quickly grabbed hold of the utensil jar which was empty due to her cooking and she smashed the pot around his head, allowing John to roll him so he was under his weight, finally delivering a final punch, dislocating his jaw as he closed his eyes. Sarah took the gun from his hands and stepped back as far as she could.

"You okay John?" Scarlett checked, helping him stand up.

"I'm fine," he said as Scarlett pulled her BlackBerry out. She allowed the other end to ring before receiving his voicemail.

"Sherlock Holmes you answer your phone right now and get yourself home! We've got someone here who wants to see you!"

...

A/N: So here is another case! It's going to deepen in time again so we shall see how that turns out! Please do review!


	49. Chapter 49

"Who the hell are you?" John snapped as the man came around from his state of unconsciousness. John had managed to tie him to a chair, restraining him until he got answers, or, if that failed, he had planned to call Lestrade for himself. They had removed the mask from his face to reveal short blonde hair and cold blue eyes. His nose was wonky, as if it had been broken.

"I don't think that is any of your business," he said in a soft and dangerous voice.

"I think that when you come into my home and almost kill me then it is my business," John retorted whilst Scarlett picked up the turkey and managed to shove into the bin, swearing under her breath as she cursed Sherlock for not picking up. Sarah was sat in the kitchen, watching as her boyfriend failed to interrogate the man.

"I'm still not saying," he informed John.

"I think you should because I'm planning to phone the police," John threatened.

"Now I'm scared," the man rolled his eyes and Scarlett slammed the dustpan and brush onto the worktop surface and then walked over to the man, bending down to his sitting height, her face close to his as he smirked at her.

"Here's how it's going to work," she said. "You're going to tell us who the hell sent you here because I personally don't appreciate my home being broken in to and guns waved in my face for no apparent reason, it would seem. Also, you've completely ruined Christmas Day and my turkey has gone to waste which I spent ages stuffing and preparing so I suggest you tell me why you're here so I don't shoot you myself."

"Like you did Moriarty?" he asked her and she folded her arms, standing tall and looking down onto him.

"How do you know that?" Scarlett asked him.

"I have sources," he smirked. "Like your boyfriend."

"Why do you want Sherlock?" she asked him.

"Just want a little chat, that's all," he assured them and Scarlett looked over to John whilst Sarah remained silent.

"About?" John pushed him.

"That's nothing to do with you," the man replied and there was suddenly a loud bang noise. Scarlett rushed over to the doorway and saw Sherlock climbing the stairs, a grin on his face which soon fell off when he saw the look on Scarlett's face.

"Where the hell have you been?" Scarlett snapped at him. "I've left you forty five voice messages at least!"

"My phone was turned off," Sherlock told her. "I've been in the morgue. What appears to be the problem?"

"Just the usual monthly event of people breaking into the flat and trying to kill us," she shrugged in a sarcastic manner. "No biggie."

"Mr Holmes," the man suddenly spoke and Sherlock rested a hand onto Scarlett's shoulder before he walked past her and into the living room, looking at the man tied to the chair.

"I would say it is nice to meet your acquaintance," Sherlock drawled, "but I don't think that statement would be apt in this situation."

"Well it is very nice to meet you," he smiled and Sherlock noted the gun on the table and he quickly dashed over to it, ignoring the very presence of Sarah as he pulled out the bullets and a large grin entered his face as he then turned back to the blonde.

"Who sent you?" Sherlock asked him, playing with a bullet in his hands.

"Why would someone send me?" he wondered.

"These bullets are the same ones which were found in two other victims which means you must have killed them. But you clearly aren't that much of a psychopath to do this on your own which means you're an assassin. I can also tell that from the expensive suit you're paid well and the expensive gun also points to hit man. So you came here to warn me off this case, correct?"

"You are very good Mr Holmes," the hit man smiled. "It's true what they say."

"I don't listen to idle gossip," Sherlock replied. "But I imagine they don't say anything bad."

"Depends who you speak with," he shrugged awkwardly.

"So who were you speaking with?" Sherlock asked and he shook his head.

"I don't think that is any of your concern," he replied and Sherlock pulled his BlackBerry out.

"I think I shall leave this to the police then," he said. "Quite clearly you're not going to say anything."

...

Scarlett slammed the pots into the sink and began washing them up whilst Sherlock stood in the living room, his mind working overtime as he created a collage of images from the case. John and Sarah had gone back to Sarah's home after Sherlock had refused to speak of the case he was working on, saying he had no time for speech when he needed to think instead.

"They were both maintaining a lifestyle too expensive for them...so there paths must have crossed at some point...been to the same place...phoned the same number...so that has to narrow it down..." Sherlock suddenly said and began to text Lestrade before he flopped onto the sofa, closing his eyes as he did so.

"I'm going to bed," Scarlett informed Sherlock.

"At twenty past seven?" Sherlock asked her.

"Well having a hit man come after you can do that to a pregnant woman," she told him snidely.

"You're in a mood with me," Sherlock stated. "Is this because I missed Christmas or because I appear to have gotten you into bother?"

"I don't know," Scarlett replied. "I'm just fed up today Sherlock."

"I would ask what you thought of your presents but I know you would have liked them when I bought them so I won't bother," Sherlock told her and she looked down onto the floor before walking over to the sofa and flopping down onto it as Sherlock lifted his legs up to give her room.

"They were nice Sherlock," she assured him. "So do you plan on telling me about the case?"

"So are you not in a mood with me?" he asked her and she sighed loudly.

"I was...but you didn't ask for a hit man to try and kill us or for my turkey to be ruined or to be given a case at this chosen time..."

"So you've realised it's not my fault?" Sherlock checked. "Very good."

"No," Scarlett agreed. "It's not...but I am going to bed..."

Sherlock sat up and looked over at Scarlett as his hand moved a blonde curl from her hair.

"So are you okay?" he asked her. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No," Scarlett shook her head, resting a hand onto Sherlock's cheek and Sherlock closed his eyes. "I'm fine...just shook me up..."

"Well things like that can do that to a person," Sherlock assured her as he looked into her eyes once again and then found himself kissing her lightly. Scarlett pulled away from him and then smiled at him before standing up.

"Oh," she said before walking away. "He knew I had killed Moriarty...he told me that he knew I shot him point blank."

Sherlock said nothing and instead he laced his fingers together and just nodded at her as she continued moving to the door to the kitchen. There was only one person who could have told him that. The elusive Irene Adler.


	50. Chapter 50

"Information needed. Come to Pierre's as soon as possible," a voice drawled as Sherlock sat at a table, a glass of water in his hand, his legs crossed underneath the surface as he saw Irene Adler sit opposite him, her hand pushing her brown hair from her face, dropping her bag onto the table.

"I knew you read my blog," Sherlock said smugly.

"That's because I'm watching your every move Mr Holmes," she informed Sherlock. "Now please do tell me why I am needed here so late in the evening."

"You have told someone about what happened to Moriarty," Sherlock stated. "Don't even try to deny it because I know you did it."

"And what would make you say that?" she wondered aloud as she poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher which was resting on the table whilst Sherlock simply just continued to look at her.

"Some man broke into my flat today. A man, who calls himself Walter Matthew, a very famous hit man apparently," Sherlock informed her and she raised a brow.

"Oh really?" she asked. "How terrible for you Sherlock. I do hope no one was hurt."

"Fortunately no one was injured," he assured her, knowing sarcasm was laid thick and heavy in her voice as she spoke. "But he said something interesting to Scarlett."

"Your little girlfriend who is pregnant?" Irene asked and Sherlock went silent for a moment and she chuckled lightly. "I take it that this is not a reason to toast then?"

"Regardless of her condition," Sherlock shook off, not wanting to discuss her being pregnant. "He said he knew how she had shot Moriarty. You're the only one who knows that piece of information Miss Adler."

"I must have let it slip," she shrugged lightly. "My boss may have managed to worm that piece of information out of me...especially considering he is not happy you have decided to poke your nose into his business."

"Who is your boss?" Sherlock asked.

"You'll find out if you continue your prying," she replied.

"So what are you then? A secretary to the criminal class of London?" Sherlock asked her and she laughed once lightly and took a drink of her water.

"You could say that," she said. "A made up job just like yours Sherlock."

"Apparently so," Sherlock agreed. "And the hit man tonight was a warning, was he not? Your boss wants me to stay out of this."

"He thought if he could get to your beloved Scarlett then you would receive the message. But it seems your little girlfriend is invincible."

"No one is invincible," Sherlock told her. "So your boss is a loan shark, correct?"

"Amongst many things," she agreed. "He's an extremely powerful man. The government have been trying to bring him down for many months now but have yet to succeed and I doubt they ever will."

"Yes," Sherlock mused and then he smiled cockily back to her. "But now that they have you on their team I imagine that must make life easier."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she told him and Sherlock chuckled at her.

"I did think you were quite smart. Clearly I am mistaken. You're a double agent, aren't you?" Sherlock said and her face fell slightly and Sherlock nodded.

"I shall take that as a yes," he drawled. "I imagine Mycroft hired you then? Considering he is _the_ Government it would only make sense for him to do so."

"And why would you think I am a double agent?" Irene managed to strangle out a whisper.

"When you dropped your bag onto the table I saw a letter in there, addressed to a Mycroft Holmes which means you're part of the government and the criminal world at the same time which can only mean a double agent. Now if you never dropped your bag onto the table then I wouldn't have known for you seem very relaxed playing a master criminal's receptionist." Sherlock informed her and she stood up quickly and then looked down at Sherlock as she did so.

"I'm warning you," she told him. "If you don't stay out of this then there will be trouble Mr Holmes. For everyone."

...

"How does he know?" Mycroft snapped down the phone to Irene.

"He saw the letter to you and he managed to deduce it from that," Irene informed Mycroft. "What do we do now?"

"You keep your role in Mr Morris' little game. We don't have the sufficient evidence we need to arrest him yet," Mycroft told her. "He's not leaving any paper trails and none of the deaths can be traced back to him and his loan shark business."

"And you do realise that if your brother continues poking around with the police then he is likely to have him killed. He knows all about Sherlock," Irene said and continued walking down the pavement.

"Who doesn't know about Sherlock?" Mycroft droned. "My brother knows he could be hurt but he shall continue investigating and he will manage to find out about Mr Morris and when he does he shall give him to the police or he will be found dead."

"And you're willing to let him do this?" Irene asked. "To continue risking his own life?"

"Sherlock has a mind of his own," Mycroft told her. "God knows it's a dangerous thing."

...

"So why don't you just ask your brother who the loan shark is?" Scarlett asked Sherlock on the evening of Boxing Day. "I mean if Irene is working for him and then relaying the information back to your brother then he will know who it is."

"Do you honestly believe that Mycroft would willingly tell me anything Scarlett?" Sherlock asked her and she cocked her head to the side and sighed slightly. She remained sat on Sherlock's sofa whilst he took to the desk, looking through paperwork.

"No," she agreed. "I suppose he wouldn't want you involved...even though you could probably solve this easier than he could. And if he knows of this loan shark then why not arrest him?"

"Possibly there is no evidence," Sherlock mused, searching through the phone numbers of the deceased victims of the hit man, seeing if any number matched. "And he wouldn't want some consulting detective to find any of this out because it would make him and the Government look bad, especially considering how they have an agent in the middle of it all. Can you imagine the shame?"

"And yet you're still trying to solve this," Scarlett murmured.

"Of course," Sherlock said. "If it makes Mycroft look bad then how can I possibly resist?"

...

Scarlett walked along the pavement of London in the cold evening air as she made her way back from work. Sherlock had been out on the twenty seventh of December, trying to gather more evidence to find whoever this loan shark was. And so Scarlett had gone back to work early as there was no long Christmas Break for the justice system.

"Miss Jenson?" a sudden voice asked her as she managed to bump into a tall man, not looking where she was going.

"Yes?" she asked.

"You're coming with me," the man said and Scarlett raised her eyebrows at him and pushed past him.

"I think not," she replied. "I'm fed up of having people tell me what I shall and shall not do."

"My boss," the man said, his brown hair swaying in the breeze as he walked beside her, "does not take kindly to people who disobey orders."

"And I am guessing your boss wants to use me as bait to get Sherlock off the case he is working on?" Scarlett snapped, continuing to walk briskly through the crowds before she felt the man grab onto her arm and a round thing pressed onto her stomach, hiding in between their coats as she felt the gun on her jumper.

"You're very clever Miss Jenson," he observed in a strong Russian accent.

"And I'm smart enough not to trust you," she said and snapped her arm from his grasp, but he continued to grab onto her other one, leaving Scarlett no choice but to try and push him from her.

"Get off!" she snapped, attracting stares from people around them. As she finally managed to free her arm of his strong hold, she fell backwards due to the force. She landed awkwardly onto the paving and as she did so she felt a weird sensation go through her stomach. The man looked down onto her and knew something was wrong as another man stopped and asked if she was okay. The Russian took no time in rushing off back through the crowd, leaving Scarlett Jenson wondering if her baby was fine inside her stomach.

...

A/N: Very busy weekend this week which has left me with only this afternoon to update! Hopefully I shall update again soon anyway. So, please do leave me a review to let me know what you think of it so far as the plot is thickening again! So thank you to everyone reading and do review!


	51. Chapter 51

_We need to talk. Would you just phone me back? Now._

_John_

Sherlock looked at the text and rolled his eyes as he saw it. Another body had been discovered and he was at the crime scene as the multiple texts and phone calls came flooding through from his flatmate. Considering he had yet to tell him what was important, Sherlock could not be particularly bothered to find out. He continued to do his examination on the body, finding out that the man was a lecturer and his body had been strategically placed down on the bank of the Thames.

"Sherlock," Lestrade suddenly broke into the consulting detective's thoughts. "John just phoned me...he says if you don't call him back in the next ten minutes then he is personally going to see to it that you die before some criminal can kill you...or something along those lines..."

"You need to be in touch with the school he taught at...it is likely his body was dragged from there. He still has pen marks on his hands and chalk remains on his shirt," Sherlock told Lestrade, standing up straight and removing the plastic gloves from his hands as he did so.

"How did you know that?" Lestrade asked. "He could have gone home from work and then been brought here?"

"I suggest you take my word as law," Sherlock told him. "It appears I should phone John before he decides to murder me."

Sherlock walked down the bank, his hands finding his phone in his grey coat pocket and then scrolling down to find John's number before calling it.

"About time," John snapped down the phone.

"I apologise if I am trying to find a notorious loan shark whilst you have some problem sorting out the oven which you class as important enough to bother me. Ask Scarlett for help, she should be home by now," Sherlock told him in a deep voice down the phone.

"Yes," John agreed. "She should be. However, she is currently stuck in the hospital."

"What?" Sherlock asked him. "What happened to her? Is she okay?"

"She was on her way home and one of the loan sharks henchmen managed to find her..." John spoke slowly, deliberating each word and wondering if he should be the one to tell Sherlock.

"What did he do to her?" Sherlock asked, dashing onto the main road, looking for a cab.

"He pushed her...she's fine Sherlock...well...she's okay..." John said and Sherlock didn't need him to say what had happened to her.

"She's lost the child," Sherlock stated.

"She's asking for you Sherlock," John simply replied.

"Tell her I'm on the way," Sherlock said and he hung up as he finally managed to find a cab. He knew which hospital to go to after being told she had been attacked on the way home so she would obviously have been taken to the local hospital. On the way there his mind was working overtime. He knew she would be distraught...but how did he feel? He never wanted a child. But he didn't want the child to be dead. He wasn't a heartless man.

...

Sherlock walked briskly through the corridors of the hospital, finally seeing John stood at the end of one, a coffee held in his hand as he took a sip of the drink and looked at his friend.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked.

"She's in the room at the end of the corridor. They gave her a room of her own...just...be careful with her Sherlock," John advised his friend who raised a brow at him.

"Well I wasn't intending on being brash," Sherlock replied.

"She's in bits Sherlock," John replied. "She hasn't stopped crying since they brought her in and told her. Even before they confirmed it she knew..."

"Of course she would know," Sherlock replied. "She's the mother."

Sherlock blinked a few times, repeating the previous sentence in his head. He had used the present tense. John nodded once before Sherlock began to walk down the corridor and then he saw her through the glass in her room. The blinds were slightly shut but he could see her faint outline. She was dressed in a blue hospital gown, her blonde curls were matted around her face and her eyes were visibly puffy and red. She was sat up, her hands moving through her hair as she sniffed loudly. Sherlock took one deep breath and then moved slowly into the room. The two of them remained silent, looking into each other's eyes. Sherlock had no idea what to say to her. Scarlett simply remained looking at him until she managed to croak out his name;

"Sherlock."

"It's okay," Sherlock promised her, walking over to the bed and dropping down to sit on the edge of it. "I'm here..."

"I...I just fell...I didn't..." she began to sob and Sherlock placed his hand onto the back of her head and pushed her face under his chin, tucking her head under his chin as she grabbed onto the sides of his coat and sobbed hard, her body shaking as Sherlock allowed his lips to drop onto the top of her head.

"It's okay," he told her again. "This is not your fault. None of this is your fault."

"Yes it is," she sniffed, moving her head from Sherlock and looking into his eyes before her hands laced together and she looked down onto them. "She was in me Sherlock...and I couldn't even look after her...no...it was a she Sherlock...a little baby girl...our baby...and now..."

"I know," Sherlock told her. "But this isn't your fault Scarlett. None of this is your fault. It was an accident...and...and I know you're hurting...but you did not cause this."

"I...I don't...Sherlock...I'm sorry..." she blurted out and Sherlock rested a slim finger under her chin and made her look up at him.

"You have nothing to apologise for," Sherlock said sternly. "You're safe and here...and you did all that you could...so don't you dare apologise to me for any of this. And you don't apologise to anyone about this."

"What do I do Sherlock?" she asked him pushing her hair from her face. "I don't know what to do now...I feel lost...and cold..."

"I don't know Scarlett," Sherlock told her. "I don't know."

...

Time ticked on in the night and neither Sherlock or Scarlett said anything. John made his leave and told them he had to go and see Sarah, not knowing what else to say to them. Sherlock had made himself at home in the room, pushing off his grey coat and scarf and then laying down on the bed with Scarlett, her head resting on his chest beside her hand as his hand played with her long blonde hair and his other hand held onto hers which was resting on his chest. Slowly, he heard her breathing shallow and he knew she was sleeping peacefully for the time being. But Sherlock couldn't sleep. He didn't want to sleep. What he really wanted was to go back out and crack on with his case, taking his mind off from Scarlett and his unborn daughter. His daughter. Sherlock gulped at the thought of it and noted a figure which was stood in the corridor. Irene Adler. Sherlock looked over at her and down to his sleeping girlfriend who he knew he should be putting first. Slowly he began to move from her weight and he rested her onto the pillow, pushing her hair from her face as she continued to sleep.

"Goodnight Scarlett," Sherlock whispered and placed his lips onto her forehead before silently slipping into his coat and picking his scarf up and then he moved from the room. He looked back at the sleeping Scarlett through the glass and then continued to follow Irene Adler down the corridor and to the outside world.


	52. Chapter 52

"I heard what happened," Irene told Sherlock as she took a seat on a bench outside the hospital, pushing her gloves further onto her hands. Sherlock remained stood in front of her, his hands held behind his back as she continued to look up to him.

"I should imagine you did considering that it was one of your boss' men that caused this," Sherlock told her and she sighed loudly.

"I know," she replied. "He came back and my boss wasn't very pleased."

"Oh," Sherlock responded. "Why would he not be pleased? He managed to hurt her, did he not? Was that not the aim?"

"The aim was to kidnap her to get you to stay away from the case," Irene responded. "And the aim was not met."

"Apparently not," Sherlock told her, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. "And I imagine you informed Mycroft of this incident?"

"Of course," she said with a smug smile on her lips. "What kind of double agent would I be if I didn't share information with both sides?"

"Not a very good one," Sherlock muttered. "So why are you here?"

"My boss wanted me to warn you," she spoke dangerously. "If you continue investigating the case then he will hurt you Sherlock...and not personally."

"Then he won't hurt me, will he?" Sherlock replied with a raised brow.

"He'll hurt you through her Sherlock," Irene warned him. "That girl in there," she motioned to the hospital.

"I'd like to see him try," Sherlock replied through gritted teeth.

"He will," she assured him. "And the chances of him succeeding are very likely. You can't protect her twenty four seven."

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "I can."

"Clearly that is incorrect," Irene said. "Where are you now? With me instead of with her...what does that tell you Sherlock?"

"It tells me that I am intrigued to know what your boss has planned next. She is perfectly safe in the hospital." Sherlock replied.

"Well it tells me that you care more about your cases then you do for your little secretary," Irene said harshly. "Why else would you be out here if the case didn't intrigue you? Considering your girlfriend has just lost your child and you would rather be out here tells me that you're not a typical boyfriend."

"Well she knows that already," Sherlock replied. "And she would understand why I'm here."

"Would she?" Irene asked. "Because many people wouldn't."

"She knows the case comes first," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"I think Sherlock," Irene said and circled the detective, standing behind him, her mouth going close to his ear. "That you're bored of her...that she can't offer you the exciting life which you so desire...after all, she's so weak it is unbelievable...why else would you leave her if you truly did love her? If you truly loved her you'd still be with her instead of talking with me out here, wouldn't you? What you feel for her...it's not love..."

...

Scarlett awoke early the next morning in complete disarray as she looked around the room she was sleeping in. At first she panicked, looking around, wondering where she was, but then she remembered the events of the previous night. Sighing loudly to herself, she looked to the side, searching for Sherlock. But he wasn't there. She pushed herself to sit up and ran a hand through her hair, wondering where he had gotten to. She looked onto her bedside table and noticed a note on a napkin. Picking it up she read the note quickly and then screwed the cloth up, throwing it across the room.

_Gone to work on the case. Back later._

_SH_

...

"What the hell are you doing here?" John snapped when he saw Scarlett walk into the flat in the evening. She wore the clothes she had been taken to hospital in as she dropped her bag onto the floor and walked past John and into her bedroom.

"I discharged myself," she told him and began to search for some clothes in the wardrobe which were looser fitting. Her stomach ached slightly and her eyes were still red as she pushed one of Sherlock's shirts from its hanger and began to change into it, the material loose around her stomach.

"You shouldn't have done that," John told her, standing in the doorway and then finally moving into the room when he saw her laid on the bed, curled in a ball.

"I managed to get home fine," she told John.

"Why didn't you get Sherlock to bring you home?" John asked her and then his mouth dropped as soon as he had said it.

"He went off. Didn't he?" John checked and he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at Scarlett who in turn was just looking over to the side.

"I don't know when," Scarlett mumbled. "I woke up and he wasn't there."

"And you're angry with him," John stated and she shrugged awkwardly.

"I should have known that he would always put the case first...I was annoyed to start with...but then I realised that this is Sherlock."

"Even so," John shook his head. "He could have at least made sure you got home safely."

"He thinks I'm still in the hospital," Scarlett whispered. "Unless he checks his phone...I did text him earlier..."

"How are you feeling anyway?" John asked her.

"Numb," she replied in a mutter.

...

"I heard about your girlfriend," a voice rang out in St Bart's lab as Sherlock continued to test the bullets from the dead bodies. Sherlock continued looking into the microscope as he heard the voice.

"Did you?" Sherlock replied. "Then again, when you're the British Government I suppose you know everything."

"Don't be absurd Sherlock," Mycroft spoke. "And I am truly sorry for what happened to her. How is she?"

"As expected when one loses their child," Sherlock told his brother.

"And how are you?" Mycroft asked.

"Don't pretend to be concerned," Sherlock looked at his brother for the first time.

"You're my brother Sherlock," Mycroft replied. "I have the right to be concerned."

"Well don't exercise that right," Sherlock murmured. "And how is your spying going?"

"I presume you mean Miss Adler," Mycroft said. "And she is doing well...we would be doing even better if you left the case alone."

"So you're not in need of my help anymore?" Sherlock asked him. "Even though this is a very important case."

"I have Miss Adler on the case Sherlock," Mycroft told him. "I don't need you to help anymore."

"And you're also worried that if I figure this out before you then that would mean it would not reflect well on the government," Sherlock spoke.

"We have it figured out Sherlock," Mycroft said.

"But you have no evidence," Sherlock drawled. "Why else would you not be making an arrest?"

"Stay out of this Sherlock," Mycroft warned him. "You'll get yourself killed if you carry on."

"How dull," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You think I am scared?"

"You should be," Mycroft said. "And you may want to go back to your flat tonight instead of to the hospital. Your girlfriend discharged herself from hospital."

...

"No!" was the first word Sherlock heard in his eardrums as he entered 221B Baker Street. Sherlock took to the stairs quickly, moving into the living room with haste and freezing at what he saw. On the sofa was a man who was resting his weight on top of Scarlett, his hands gripping onto her wrists as she wormed under his weight.

"I told you not to go against me," a Russian voice snapped and Sherlock acted. Quickly, he moved and grabbed the collar of the man, pulling his hefty weight from Scarlett as the Russian stood up and threw a punch at Sherlock, hitting him across the jaw and knocking him backwards. Scarlett hastily stood up and lunged for her phone on the coffee table, but the Russian grabbed onto her arm quickly and wrapped his arms around her midriff, dragging her backwards whilst Sherlock's vision came back to him. As Scarlett continued to struggle she felt something prick her skin. The Russian dropped her to the floor and her limbs seemed to go dead as she couldn't move any further and she remained next to John's unconscious body.

"Scarlett," Sherlock's voice spoke, his deep sound echoing in her ears.

She couldn't do anything but droop to the floor, looking up at Sherlock as the Russian punched him again on the cheekbone and Sherlock ducked another punch, only to stand up straight again and be hit in the stomach. He doubled over before the Russian stuck the needle through his arm and into his vein. Sherlock too fell to the floor.

"What was that?" Sherlock panicked as the Russian grabbed him under the arms and began to drag him from the room.

"Don't worry," the Russian said. "My boss will be extremely happy to see you."

...

Uh Oh. Sherlock is in a bit of trouble! Anyhow, thank you to eruptingearth and CaptainCrash for their reviews and to everyone else who has reviewed all my other chapters! More on the way soon so please do review!


	53. Chapter 53

"And what is this?" a tall man who was clearly in his late forties asked the Russian as he deposited Sherlock's body onto the ground. The consulting detective moaned as he went down and hit the floor. Using all his might, he tried to worm his way up but he failed to do so and fell straight back down onto the hard carpeted floor.

"Sherlock Holmes," the Russian man said proudly, looking down onto the limp form of Sherlock whilst his boss did the same and then looked back into the assasin's.

"I thought I instructed you to bring me his bird?" the man asked him and the Russian simply just shrugged lightly and looked at his boss in puzzlement. He thought he would have been happy.

"You did," the Russian agreed. "But he interrupted whilst I was trying to catch her."

"Trying? It took you effort to catch a young woman who is weak due to the loss her child?" the man checked and he looked around his office and shook his head. "You're pathetic," he sneered.

"She was strong!" The Russian said quickly whilst Sherlock made a grunting noise on the floor.

"Of course she was," sarcasm took hold of the man's voice. "But you did well I suppose."

"Thank you very much Mr Morris," the Russian sounded full of glee at his boss' approval and the man named Mr Morris nodded.

"You may go now," he instructed the Russian. But as the man turned on his heel, Mr Morris pulled out a gun from his jacket pocket and he quickly took aim, shooting the Russian in the back of the head. The assassin fell to the floor, blood seeping out from his lifeless body as Mr Morris clicked his fingers and the mess was cleaned up. Slowly, he placed his gun back into his pocket and looked down on Sherlock.

"He didn't obey orders," the man drawled. "And neither did you. Unfortunately for you, I have a much better ending for your death."

Twenty four hours later

"So you're saying that someone just broke in, started to try and attack you both and then managed to knock you out? Kidnapping Sherlock as they did so?" Lestrade checked and Scarlett and John quickly nodded. It had taken a while for both of them to come round from the injection they had been given and they had deduced that the best thing to do was to alert the police of Sherlock's disappearance.

"That's what happened," Scarlett confirmed, walking around the flat, looking for anything to figure out where the Russian could have taken Sherlock, trying to see if he had left any clues.

"This is madness," Lestrade shook his head. "So you're also saying that he has been kidnapped by this loan shark for interfering in his business."

"We think that is the reason for it, yes," John confirmed.

"Well I'll see what I can do," Lestrade sighed.

"See what you can do?" Scarlett snapped at him. "You'd best be doing more than seeing what you can bloody do."

"I can't have every policeman out in London searching for him Miss Jenson," Lestrade informed the girl and she snorted loudly.

"After all that he has done for you I think that is the least you can do for him!" she snapped at Lestrade. "How many killers has he caught for you? How often do you say you need him?"

"It's a big day coming up Miss Jenson...New Years Eve and most of the officers are preparing for it."

"That's not for another two days!" Scarlett snapped. "God only knows what may have happened to him by then!"

"I'll do my best Miss Jenson," he promised her. "I'll have men searching the CCTV to see if there is any suspicious activity. Apart from that then there really is nothing more for me to do."

"This is ridiculous," Scarlett mumbled and grabbed her coat, shrugging into it and then reaching for her bag and gloves. John began to copy her movements, asking as he did so;

"Where are we going?"

"To the Houses of Parliament or wherever it is _he _hides."

...

"Miss Jenson," his smooth and slightly creepy voice rang out as he saw the woman and John stood in his office, looking over at him with narrowed eyes. "What an unexpected surprise."

"We need your help," Scarlett told him. "It's Sherlock."

"What has my brother done now?" Mycroft replied. "And I am very sorry to hear about your child."

"Yes," Scarlett said curtly. "Sherlock's been kidnapped."

"Are you sure he hasn't just wandered off?" Mycroft asked her. "As a child he used to do that for days on end."

"I'm sure," Scarlett replied. "Because the man who broke into our flat and knocked John and I out took him...we think it is the loan shark you know of who has taken him."

"Impossible," Mycroft whispered. "I would have known by now."

"Because you have Irene Adler as a double agent?" Scarlett raised her eyebrows and Mycroft's mouth parted slightly.

"And how would you know that, Miss Jenson?" he asked Scarlett.

"Sherlock talks out loud when thinking," she told him. "He doesn't mean for me to hear but I often do."

"Like I said," Mycroft replied. "If my brother had been kidnapped then I would have known about it."

"Would you listen to her?" John snapped at the elder Holmes. "He has been kidnapped and we know it is by this loan shark. If you don't plan to help us then we don't care. But we need a name and an address."

"That is top government business," Mycroft replied. "Nothing for you two sidekicks of my brother to worry about."

"For God's sake," Scarlett mumbled and she outstretched a hand and pulled the gun from John's jacket out, leaving the man wondering what the hell she was playing at as she pointed the gun at Mycroft.

"I am fed up," Scarlett began, "of not getting satisfactory answers from anyone. Now tell me, where is he?"

"And do you really think you'll be able to shoot me and get away with it Miss Jenson?" Mycroft asked her. "There are cameras all around here. You pull that trigger and it will be the last thing you do."

"Just tell me where he is!" she yelled. "This is your brother! Why don't you believe us?"

"Because I don't need to take your word when I have my own source who has not reported my brother's disappearance," Mycroft told her.

"Has it ever occurred to you that Miss Adler doesn't know Sherlock has been kidnapped?" she asked him and he remained silent.

"She would have known," he spoke with feeble determination whilst Scarlett took the gun from safety mode and it made a clicking noise.

"Where is he?" she tried again, moving closer to Mycroft whilst John stood behind her.

"Scarlett," he said warningly. "Shooting him won't get an answer."

"It would make me feel better," she replied and then had an idea. "Raid his drawers John."

"You can't do that!" Mycroft snapped and Scarlett pressed the gun further into his temple.

"Unless you want to tell us where he is then we have no choice," she replied. "Now I don't really want to shoot you because you're Sherlock's brother even though I do truly detest you."

"Charming Miss Jenson," he replied to her whilst John began turning out drawers to his desk.

"Thank you," she said. "But I don't really want to kill you, I just want to know where Sherlock is and this seems the only way to find out."

"I've found Irene's folder!" John suddenly exclaimed and he began flicking through it. "She's recently been put onto Ian Morris' case...and how does a loan shark end up with an office in Canary Wharf?"

"Well," Mycroft drawled. "When he's just a supposed mortgage lender it isn't difficult. If no one knows of your illegal activities then why not live in luxury?"

"And is that him?" Scarlett pushed Mycroft. "Is that the loan shark with Sherlock's case?"

"I think you already know that is a yes Miss Jenson," Mycroft drawled and Scarlett took the gun from his head. "I'd say that child had a lucky escape not having you as a parent. Asking dense questions like you just did then the poor thing had no hope whatsoever."

And then Scarlett used the top of the gun and slammed it onto Mycroft's head, knocking the man cold as he fell back into his chair.

"Since when did you become accustomed to violence?" John asked her, taking his gun back and then Irene Adler's file before rushing from the building with Scarlett.

"Sherlock taught me," Scarlett said. "He taught me how to threaten people and manipulate them so that they talk."

"Are you sure this is a healthy relationship?" John asked her and she grinned sadly once and looked at him.

"Is it hell," she replied.

...

"Take these," a feminine voice spoke and Sherlock sat up from the sofa he was residing on. His head was pounding and all the lights seemed too bright for him. He knew he was locked in an office next door to the one Mr Morris occupied. He also knew that there were five men guarding the corridor in the large building and so any chance of escape was impossible for him to fathom.

"What are you doing here?" he asked after hearing the distinct voice of Irene Adler as she made him sit up, popping the aspirin into his mouth and then handing him the water.

"Looking after you apparently," she told Sherlock and rested a hand onto his forehead and checked his temperature. "That is until Mr Morris decides to kill you."

"We're allowed to say his name now?" Sherlock checked and she chuckled.

"Don't worry," she assured him. "It's not like he's called Voldermort."

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," Sherlock quoted a line from the Harry Potter book and Irene laughed again, the noise hurting Sherlock's head.

"She's gotten you into the books then?" Irene asked.

"She wouldn't let me shoot the walls anymore," Sherlock pouted.

"Apparently she is looking for you," Irene said and received another phone call from Mycroft which she chose to ignore for the seventh time, the gesture not going unnoticed by Sherlock.

"Is she really?" Sherlock asked. "And will she find me?"

"No idea," Irene drawled and rejected another phone call.

"I think my brother wants to talk with you," Sherlock commented. "Not very good at this double agent business, are you?"

"Oh Sherlock," she chuckled. "You have no idea."

"Oh I know," Sherlock said quickly. "The cheque sticking out of your pocket is enough to tell me that Mr Morris has bought your services. Has he not?"

"Very good," she congratulated him. "He paid me rather generously. And I was becoming tired of working for your brother...especially when he said my pay was to be cut...how ridiculous is that?"

"So you've turned to the criminals," Sherlock made a 'tut' noise. "How predictable of you."

"It's much more exciting," she assured him. "You should have tried it."

"I'm doing fine on my own thank you," Sherlock replied.

"Apparently not considering your death is coming soon," she remained tight lipped. "And it will be a shame Sherlock...for you really are a talented man."

"I know," Sherlock grumbled. "It's a burden."

"I can imagine," she stood up and looked down onto him. "Are you not even curious as to how you're going to die? It would only be right to send you out with a big bang, don't you think?"

"These walls aren't soundproof Miss Adler," Sherlock told her and laid back down onto the sofa, looking at the ceiling with narrowed eyes. "I know exactly how Mr Morris plans to kill me."

...

A/N: I know how he plans to kill him too! I have this whole idea in my head and I just need to write it down. Anyway, I hate to say that we are almost coming to the end of the story. I believe there are a couple or so chapters left to come and then that shall be all. However; if I receive enough requests then I may contemplate thinking of a sequel. I will update soon so I thank you for reading and please do leave me a review! Thank you!


	54. Chapter 54

"So what do we do?" John asked Scarlett as they sat in the back of a cab on their way to Canary Wharf. Both of them had high heart rates and the fear of what they could find was looming upon them.

"I don't know," Scarlett replied. "You normally go with Sherlock...doesn't he have an itinerary for this type of thing?"

"You're not at work now Scarlett," John told the girl with a faint smile. "We don't have a time for everything and Sherlock rarely has a plan in hand."

"Brilliant," she said sarcastically and looked out the window, trying to think of what they should do when they arrived at the large building and took the elevator up to the fortieth floor.

"Well we can't exactly walk into the floor where his offices are, can we?" she checked with John and he shook his head in agreement.

"No," he said. "And I don't think we should take the elevator either. There is always a chance that someone could be watching. I am sure he will have men in the building too."

"Agreed," Scarlett replied and looked in her bag for anything which might help and she smiled at a memory she had as she pulled out the pepper spray and handed John a can.

"And why do you have two cans of pepper spray in your bag?" John asked her. "And why haven't you used them on Sherlock yet?"

"My brother always stashed one in my bag before I went out on a date...he was like that," she shrugged. "I can't believe I still have them living in there."

"It's like Mary Poppin's bag that thing," John pointed over to it as she rummaged around in it, looking for her purse so she could pay the cabbie.

"So the plan?" Scarlett asked him and paid the fare, climbing out and looking onto the large building in complete and utter disillusion.

"Wing it," John simply said and took her hand as they walked into the building.

...

"Very good to meet you Mr Holmes," a distinct Cockney accent spoke to Sherlock as he was told to sit in a chair opposite the man, the desk the only thing between them. Two men stood behind Sherlock, guns poking out their pockets whilst the consulting detective paled slightly and ran a hand through his hair, adjusting the collar on his shirt as he somehow managed to look bored.

"I'd say the same," he drawled, "but under these circumstances I don't agree."

"You're very much to the point, aren't you?" Ian Morris chuckled at the rhetorical question. "But I've heard that you are."

"What else have you heard about me?" Sherlock asked. "I do know how people love to gossip."

"I've heard that you're a very intelligent man, Mr Holmes," he informed Sherlock. "That you have very few friends and yet you have multiple enemies.

"Enemies tend to be much more exciting, don't you think?" Sherlock replied. "Friends just tend to do what you ask them to."

"And I am afraid you have made an enemy out of me, Mr Holmes," Ian shook his head. "I did warn you, but, you didn't take my advice."

"I'm not a fan of taking anyone's advice," Sherlock replied. "Only my own."

"Clearly," the man replied in a low voice. "And I am very sorry that I am going to have to be the one to kill you."

"You don't seem sorry," Sherlock replied.

"Okay I'm not," Ian chuckled. "In fact...your death is quite big news in our business. It seems there are many people who want you dead."

"Oh, who?" Sherlock wondered.

"Just think of everyone you've helped to put away and then the list shall be easy for you to figure out," Ian spoke.

"I shall have a think about that this morning then," Sherlock replied and yawned, looking out onto the dark morning sky of the thirtieth of December.

"You do that," Ian told Sherlock with a nod. "You may also want to think about how you're going to die."

"I know that already," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you really want to surprise me then you should think about making these walls soundproof."

"You heard?" Ian checked and Sherlock nodded.

"About how you plan to attach a bomb to me whilst I stand and watch the celebrations of New Year opposite the London Eye and then detonate the bomb when the clock strikes midnight? Yes, I heard."

"Snazzy, isn't it?"

"Typically droll," Sherlock replied. "Moriarty did that months ago."

"Jim was a good friend of mine," Ian shook his head in slight sadness. "I think he'll be pleased to hear how I plan to kill our favourite detective."

"Consulting," Sherlock reminded him and Ian rolled his eyes.

"And do you honestly think I shall stand amongst all those people and wait to be blown up?" Sherlock asked and Ian chuckled darkly.

"What makes you think you have a say?"

"Boss!" a sudden voice shouted into the room and the door opened. Sherlock turned in his seat and his face dropped.

"Get your hands off me!" a woman snapped whilst a man's hands remained firmly around her waist, dragging her into the room. Behind, there was another suited man dragging in a small blonde by his upper arm.

"We found them lurking in the floor above," the man holding the girl spoke and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Didn't you think to go higher than one floor?" he asked them. "There's always a chance you will be heard. Especially in a big building like this."

"Quite clearly that thought never crossed our mind," Scarlett snapped at Sherlock as she motioned to the tall man who had hold of her. "Or else we wouldn't be in this situation."

"I take it you're Miss Jenson?" Ian asked her and she looked into his eyes.

"I take it you're Ian Morris?" she asked him boldly and he smiled, standing up and looking at John.

"And Dr Watson too," his smile became broad. "How very brave of you to come here tonight."

"Technically it's morning," Scarlett replied and he walked over to her, taking her chin into his hands and making her look at him whilst she wriggled in his henchman's grip.

"Very feisty, aren't you?" he chuckled.

"I just don't appreciate being near scum like you," she replied and Sherlock stood up, raising a brow at her. Since when did she become so bold? Normally she was as shy as a mouse. When she was in a life and death situation with Moriarty she had been begging for her life.

"Hold your tongue," Ian warned her and he suddenly slapped her across the face as Sherlock rushed over to her and pushed Ian from her body, taking her into his own arms as the man holding her let go.

"Don't touch her," Sherlock warned him. Scarlett felt the consulting detective's pulse quicken as he held tightly onto her and she glared at Ian.

"Hitting women around," she informed him, "is not a very manly thing to do."

"Get them out of my sight," Ian snapped at his men. "And make sure they don't go anywhere."

...

"I have to say," Sherlock drawled as he rested on the sofa in the prison room and looked at John and Scarlett, "that as far as rescue attempts go, yours is by far the worst I have seen."

"At least we tried," Scarlett mumbled. "It wasn't easy."

"How did you manage to find me?" Sherlock asked them. "I have to say that I am impressed you did so."

"Ask Scarlett," John couldn't help but allow a sly smile to escape his lips as he remained cuffed to the piping of the switched off radiator and Scarlett was cuffed to the handle of a desk drawer. Sherlock was the only one who was not restrained.

"I kind of knocked your brother out," she told Sherlock who managed to open one eye and look down to the floor at her.

"How did you manage that?" he wondered.

"Well he wouldn't tell us who Ian was or where he was and so I kind of pulled a gun out and got John to raid his drawers whilst I held him at gunpoint," Scarlett explained.

"And I managed to find Irene Adler's file and we found you from that," John concluded.

"Still doesn't explain why you knocked my brother out. Not that I am completely repulsed by the idea of doing so myself," Sherlock replied.

"He...Sherlock...he said that our baby had a lucky escape...that with my brains it had no hope..." Scarlett managed to tell him and he opened his eyes fully and sat up, looking over at her.

"He said that?" he asked her and she nodded.

"I just got annoyed with him," Scarlett explained. "He was being an arse."

"You should have just shot him," Sherlock replied in a slow drawl. "I may have done."

"You wouldn't have," Scarlett replied. "And I had thought of it."

"No one should say anything so harsh," Sherlock shook his head.

"And that's coming from the harshest man in London," John chipped in and Scarlett chuckled in agreement.

"Anyway," she shook it off. "Do you have a plan to get out of here?"

"When there are five armed men guarding the outside corridor and can see us visibly through the glass?" Sherlock asked her. "No, I don't have a plan."

"Aren't you going to think of one?" Scarlett asked him hurriedly. "I mean...we can't stay here forever...he will kill us..."

"It's only me he wants dead at this moment in time," Sherlock said slowly. "And he shall have his wish by midnight tomorrow."

"What are you talking about?" John asked his friend.

"He plans to place a bomb onto me on New Year's Eve...make me join in the celebrations and then when Big Ben strikes twelve he plans to detonate the bomb," Sherlock told them and Scarlett shook her head whilst John's mouth fell slightly open.

"That will make the headlines," John said slowly.

"I've made the headlines before John," Sherlock replied. "The excitement of doing so wears out."

"No," Scarlett said. "He can't...he can't do that..."

"Oh I do believe he can," Sherlock replied. "And at the moment I have no way out of here."

"There has to be a way," Scarlett began to cry slightly. "You can't...you can't..."

"Believe me, I can die Scarlett," Sherlock assured her. "I'm not invincible."

"Yes you are," she replied. "You're Sherlock Holmes...you've survived plenty before...he can't do this to you..."

"You need to calm down Scarlett," Sherlock told her, sitting on the edge of the sofa.

"Calm down?" she spat out and began tugging at the handcuffs, trying to break them off. "How can I calm down knowing...what he's going to do...to you..." she managed to spit out deep breaths whilst Sherlock knelt in front of her and rested his hands onto her cheeks, making her look at him.

"I'm going to try and find a way out of this," he told her. "I promise you that...but the odds aren't looking favourable at this moment in time."

"What will I do without you?" she sobbed and with her free hand she rested it onto his which was on her cheek.

"You will carry on looking after John," he told her and John rolled his eyes.

"I'm not a dog Sherlock," he told his friend who looked over to him and smirked.

"You're not nearly as well behaved as a dog," he told him and then looked back at Scarlett.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered. "Without you..."

"You've managed twenty six years without me Scarlett," he informed her. "And you can manage a few more I do believe."

"I can't," she shook her head. "I can't...I love you Sherlock..."

"I know," Sherlock replied and rested his forehead against hers, her hot panting breath on his cheek. "But you'll carry on with your life Scarlett. You'll wake up in the morning and keep drinking that awful hot chocolate, you'll go to work and manage to get through the day with that old hag Mary...you'll keep going out with your friends and getting drunk...stumbling into the flat in a happy mood at three in the morning...and you'll keep on cluttering our room with your clothes and make up...and one day...you'll forget about me."

"Don't be stupid," she snapped suddenly. "How can I forget about you?"

"Okay," he nodded. "Maybe not forget...but you'll move on...your life will continue and the world shall still spin..."

"Orbiting the sun," John interjected and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Regardless," Sherlock shook his head. "Time shall still go by."

"Please find a way out," she begged him and he nodded.

"I shall try," he promised her. "I shall try."

"You just can't die on me..." she whispered. "Not now..."

"I'd prefer not to die on you at any moment, never mind now." Sherlock informed her. "Maybe your life will be normal in the future."

"I don't care," she responded. "I don't want normal. I want you."

"I want never gets," Sherlock replied.

"I'm an exception to that rule," she told him.

"You're an exception to many rules," and then he kissed her gently on the lips, his fingers curling under her chin whilst John looked away for a moment, giving them what little privacy they could have.

...

A/N: Not long left to go now! In the next chapter the plan shall be put into action and we shall see the results! I have two different endings for the story but I favour one more than another so we shall see! Anyway, thank you to Che and eruptingearth who have reviewed today and thank you to anyone reading. Please do review!


	55. Chapter 55

"She's gone very quiet," John observed Scarlett as the daylight streamed into the small office through the partially opened blinds. Sherlock looked down onto her as she remained sat in his lap rather awkwardly considering one hand was held behind Sherlock's back due to the handcuffs on the drawers. Her other hand held onto Sherlock's and her head rested on his chest as she breathed lightly, completely oblivious to the world beyond her own.

"She's had a rather trying seventy two hours John," Sherlock informed his friend as they remained trapped in the room. It was the thirty first of December. New Years Eve. Sherlock had been trying to devise a plan to get them out of the room but their every move was under scrutiny and Sherlock couldn't do something without risking John and Scarlett's life.

"Haven't we all?" John muttered back to Sherlock, his face was pale white and exhaustion was beginning to get to him badly. Yet he couldn't sleep.

"No, not really," Sherlock said. "You may have been running around the streets of London but you haven't been in hospital made to suffer the loss of your baby."

John remained silent. He supposed she had a right to be more tired than him when Sherlock spoke like that.

"How do you feel about that Sherlock?" John asked his friend. "I mean really...you haven't really spoken of it..."

"I haven't really had time to talk about it John," Sherlock replied. "And considering I don't know how I feel then that means there is not much to discuss."

"How do you not know what to feel?" John asked Sherlock who simply sighed quietly and ran a hand through his black curly hair.

"I feel as though...because that child was a part of me then some part of me has died too...as much as I did not want a child I did not wish one dead..." Sherlock replied. "Can you imagine me with a child John?"

"Not an image I'd want to see," John replied and a faint smile tugged at Sherlock's lips.

"How horrid of you John," Sherlock grinned. "But in complete seriousness I am slightly saddened by the loss of our child."

"That proves your human," John pointed out and Sherlock groaned.

"God," he complained, "what a typical thing to be."

"So do you really not have a plan?" John asked Sherlock who simply just shrugged awkwardly, trying not to wake up the sleeping Scarlett as he did so.

"I'm going to try and think of something," he assured John.

"Well you don't have long left," John informed his friend and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I am well aware that I don't have long left," Sherlock replied. "And my brain is working overtime trying to deduce a way out of this."

"You know...if anything does happen...well...it's been nice..." John began to garble and Sherlock simply just shook his head.

"Don't be turning sentimental on me now John," Sherlock begged him. "I can't be dealing with it."

"Well I want you to know that-"

"You've grown fond of me, don't think me to be a complete arse and consider me a good friend," Sherlock finished off his sentence. "There we go. Everything has been spoken of. But I do have request."

"Which is?"

"Make sure you look after Scarlett," Sherlock told his friend.

"Of course," John promised him.

"Good," Sherlock replied. "Because if you don't then I will come back to haunt you."

...

"If you don't mind Mr Holmes," the voice of Ian Morris boomed into the office. "But we're running a tight schedule."

"I imagine you are," Sherlock replied as he slowly began to stand up but before he could fully stand straight, Scarlett grabbed onto his hand and he looked down onto her.

"Please don't..." Scarlett pleaded Ian, but her eyes remained on Sherlock's.

"Your pleas are of no interest to me," Ian told her.

"You can't do this to him!" Scarlett snapped.

"He should have left alone," Ian replied. "At least now he won't be bothering anyone else."

"Scarlett," Sherlock whispered. "Look after yourself."

"You're saying goodbye Sherlock...don't do that..." she pleaded with him and he rested his hands onto her cheeks and dropped his lips onto the top of her head.

"Go into your back pocket," Sherlock whispered to her so faintly even she struggled to hear him. Sherlock stood up straight and looked down onto her, completely emotionless, before nodding at John and then moving to Ian to accept his fate.

...

"John!" Scarlett snapped as soon as Sherlock had been escorted from the room. "I need you to go into my back pocket."

"Why?" John asked her and she began to kneel upright, resting a hand in front of her as her long blonde hair fell around her face.

"Because Sherlock felt something in there...it's the pepper spray John...in my jeans back pocket..."

"And what happens when we get it?" John asked her.

"I'll think of that when we come to it," she rushed him. "It's eight o'clock already...we need to hurry up."

"Okay, okay," John replied and began to crawl as far as the handcuffs would allow him over to Scarlett before his hand outstretched to her jeans and then he pulled back.

"What would Sherlock say?" John panicked as Scarlett turned her head to the side and looked at him.

"About what?" she snapped.

"About me putting my hand into your jeans pocket and effectively groping your bum?" John asked her and she rolled her eyes.

"I don't think he will be too bothered John," she promised him. "Now just do it."

John slowly allowed his hand to drop into her back pocket and search around for the small can of pepper spray before eventually pulling it out.

"Don't tell Sherlock," he pleaded with her and she sat up straight again and nodded before pulling on the cuffs at the desk once again, creating a loud noise.

"What are you doing?" John asked her as they saw a henchman appear. There were two of them left behind in the office building and the other three had gone off with Sherlock.

"Winging it," she told John and the man entered the room and she continued making a noise and John then began to do the same as her. They noted he was the same man who had restrained them in the room and so it was likely he had the key they needed.

"What the hell are you two playing at?" the man snapped at them and moved over to John as they didn't answer him.

"Shut up!" he demanded, raising his fist, about to punch John, but before he made contact, the blonde pulled out the pepper spray and sprayed it straight into his face making the man stumble backwards as Scarlett stuck her leg out and he tumbled over it, crashing right in the middle of a small coffee table near the sofa. He caused it to split under his weight as John smirked at Scarlett and then the other man entered the room.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked them and Scarlett shrugged in innocence.

"He tripped," she told him and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Our boss won't be happy to see what you've done," he told Scarlett, advancing onto her, but before he had time to think of doing anything, she raised her leg and quickly kicked him in the groin with her foot, hurting herself as she did so. She shook her foot as she brought it back down and the man held onto his groin in pain. John managed to throw the pepper spray back to Scarlett and she sprayed it into his eyes as he moved over to her again and she kicked him one more time in the groin.

"Bitch!" he snapped at her.

"My name is Scarlett actually," she retorted and he tripped over her outstretched foot, tumbling backwards, his head hitting the radiator as his body fell onto John.

"You okay?" Scarlett asked him and he nodded at her, pushing the man off with his free hand as he made sure he was unconscious.

"Fine," he said and Scarlett began to move over to the man who had the keys and she searched his pockets, her hands ran through them quickly.

"Got them!" she exclaimed and pulled one from the pocket and began to undo the cuffs on her wrists, feeling blood circulating again as she crawled over to John and did the same for him.

"That was brilliant," John told her and he began to stand up, grabbing onto her hand and helping her up before they looked down at the two henchmen.

"We need to cuff them and take their phones away," she said. "That way they can't let Morris know what our plan is."

"Like we have a plan," John snorted as they took a man each and cuffed them to heavy objects.

"We do," she nodded. "Find Sherlock."


	56. Chapter 56

"So the main thing we have to find out is where is Sherlock and where is Morris," Scarlett spoke hurriedly as they ran through the streets of London. Their bodies were physically drained as well as emotionally but they still managed to keep on going. Adrenalin being the key for their energy.

"Won't they be near each other?" John asked Scarlett and she shook her head, stopping for a deep breath, not being able to keep with the physical exercise John had excelled in.

"No...if he plans to blow Sherlock up...then...he'll stay back...he won't want to be in the middle of it..." Scarlett panted and John looked at her and nodded.

"So how will we be able to find out where Morris is because we need him so that the bomb can't detonate," John told her and she nodded in agreement.

"We need to find him more than we need to find Sherlock..." Scarlett said and they jumped into a cab which had suddenly stopped and asked for the London Eye where they could then run across the bridge to the other side and begin their search.

"The place is going to be heaving Scarlett," John told her. "It's New Years Eve...there's going to be thousands of people along the banks watching the London Eye."

"The phone!" Scarlett exclaimed and she pulled the phone she had stolen from a henchman from her bag and looked in the address book.

"He's under Boss," Scarlett rolled her eyes. "What do we text him?"

"I have no idea...would he even text back his location?" John asked her and she shrugged.

"We have nothing else to go on John," she assured him. "It is this or nothing."

"Tell him we've escaped...he might tell us to join him somewhere?" John asked her and she began to text ferociously before sending it. Minutes seemed to go by without any reply and her heart rate felt like it was going to cause her to explode. They looked onto the masses of people by the banks of the Thames, eagerly waiting for the countdown to begin.

"Oh God," Scarlett worried as the phone began to vibrate and she opened up the text message.

_You morons. _

_Meet at Houses of Parliament._

_Tell no one._

_B._

"He even refers to himself as the Boss," Scarlett exclaimed as she looked up at John.

"What do we do?" she asked him and he began to think.

"We need to split up," he told her. "If I manage to find them but they see me then they will possibly detonate the bomb anyway...but if you can get it off him before that happens then we might save him..."

"But I don't know where he is..." Scarlett exclaimed and John pulled out his phone and checked the time.

"I'll phone you when I find them...and if you find Sherlock then phone me...we need to stay in touch okay?" John checked with her and she pulled her phone from her bag which she had retrieved from Morris' office.

"Okay," she agreed and they began to move quickly over the bridge, bumping into people as they did so.

"Right," Scarlett said before they were about to split up.

"Be careful," John told her. "And make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"I assume you mean Sherlock?" Scarlett chuckled.

"Who else?" John replied.

"I'll see you soon," Scarlett said with hope in her voice and John nodded at her.

"I hope so," he agreed and then he felt Scarlett fling herself into his arms, holding him tightly as he hugged her back and then she quickly kissed him on the cheek before nodding and then taking off in one direction.

...

"Scarlett..." John whispered into his phone as he hung back, looking over at Morris as he allowed his hand to rest on his gun in his jacket pocket.

"What is it?" she asked, pushing her way through the crowds of people, attracting glares as she searched for Sherlock and felt sick as she did so.

"I've found Morris," he said. "He's on the rooftop of the Houses of Parliament...there are three others with him...he has a microscope and is watching Sherlock from there I think."

"What are you going to do?" Scarlett worried. "I can't see him anywhere..."

"This," John said simply and he drew his gun, standing tall and taking aim at one of the men, shooting him straight in the chest before hitting another man in the shoulder, causing him to stumble backwards. The other man and Ian began to react, pulling their guns out and shooting at John who managed to hide behind a pipe on the roof and peer over it, taking aim at the last henchman and shooting him in the head.

"What is this?" Ian snapped. "There is no way out Dr Watson...no way at all..."

"I disagree," John mumbled back as he heard Scarlett still on the phone, her voice coming from his pocket as he quickly stood and shot Morris in the hand, his gun flew from it and he reached onto his shot wound quickly and in pain as John rushed over to him, his gun still pointed with one last bullet inside of it.

"Don't move," John said slowly and then he saw it. A cylinder was held in his jacket pocket with a red dot on the top of it. Ian pulled it out and he looked at John.

"You shoot me and I blow him up," Ian promised him and John looked at him.

"Drop it," John warned him, his voice low and dangerous. "Drop it now."

"You drop yours," Ian replied and John shook his head as he managed to pull his phone out, his eyes still on Ian as the cold night air circled the two of them. Shouts and cheers could be heard from down below on the Thames bank but there was nothing but a frosty atmosphere between the two men.

"Scarlett," John said into the phone. "Have you found him?"

"No!" she shrieked into the phone. "And what happened?"

"Just focus on finding him," John told her and he noted the microscope and then looked at Ian.

"Is that trained onto Sherlock?" he asked him and the man went silent.

"I shall take that as a yes," John said and he bent down, his eyes still on Ian as neither man made a move. One of John's eyes fell into the microscope as he quickly found Sherlock. The detective was stood directly opposite the Eye, and a grey coat clutched around his body as his scarf blew out around him. John removed his face from the microscope and looked back at Ian.

"He's directly opposite the Eye," he told Scarlett into his phone.

"I'm on it!" she replied quickly back to him, pushing her way through, advancing closer to opposite the eye as she did so.

"I'll give you one last chance," John told him. "Drop it and I'll let you go to prison instead of dying here and now."

"I like to take my chances," Ian replied, his thumb dangerously close to the button.

"I don't think you do," John said.

"So she's running around London looking for him, is she?" Morris made small talk with John and he continued to hold the phone closely to his ear.

"I don't think I shall tell you where she is," John replied.

"Ah," Morris sighed. "You're worried that as soon as she tells you she's found him then I'll just press the button...really it would be right of you to be worried."

"Just drop the button," John tried again and Morris shook his head.

"I'm alright thanks," Morris replied and the standoff continued.

...

Scarlett pushed her way through the crowds, her BlackBerry dangling by her side as she saw she was directly opposite the eye. People were waving flags around, huddling together in the cold night air as she shoved them to the side, looking for that distinct grey coat as she did so.

"Sherlock..." she whispered. "Where are you?"

She continued moving to the front of the crowds, leaning against the railing at the bank edge as she looked back to search for him. But she couldn't see anyone like him. That was until she looked to her left. Stood at the front of the crowd was a tall man, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his hair blowing in the breeze as he looked onto the Eye and the water of the Thames. Scarlett pushed past people on her way over to him, her legs not seeming to go fast enough.

"Watch where you're going!" someone snapped at her.

"Excuse me is a nice way of asking someone to move!" another snapped and she rolled her eyes, managing to find the man who was in some form of trance.

"Sherlock!" she gasped his name as her hand rested on his arm and her touch brought him out of his daydream.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped at her. "He said if I pulled a single trick then he would kill both you and John!"

"Luckily we managed to escape...with thanks to you..." she said and he nodded.

"I thought I felt something in your back pocket. What was it?"

"Pepper spray," she said and began to undo the buttons of his coat. She didn't know what to do. If she made a scene then Ian may see and detonate it but if she didn't then others could die.

"John," she placed her phone to her ear whilst Sherlock continued to undo his buttons along with her shaking hands.

"You found him?" John asked her.

"Yes...but if I make a scene...will he know about it?" she asked and John looked down onto the crowds and then back at Ian who followed his gaze.

"Possible," John replied simply and Scarlett nodded and placed the phone back into her pocket.

"We need to do this calmly," she told Sherlock. "He could be watching and may notice if a large gap appears around us..."

"Is John with him now?" Sherlock asked her and she nodded.

"He is," she said and reached the last button, pulling his coat open slightly to see the device strapped to him.

"Oh God," she gasped and she looked at all the wires.

"It's been terribly heavy to carry around all day," Sherlock informed her and she looked around. Everyone else was in their own private discussions as she simply just looked at Sherlock.

"What do we do?" She asked him.

"I think the water is looking very inviting this evening," he told her and she nodded.

"Can you try and keep it hidden?" she asked him as he began to shrug out of the coat, the bomb hidden inside the left hand side of the material as he folded it into his arms and Scarlett pulled the BlackBerry out again and Sherlock simply began to screw his coat up.

"We've done it John!" she exclaimed.

"It's off him?" John checked and Ian took no time to react. At hearing John's question he allowed his finger to quickly go to the button and he pressed down onto it rapidly and a beeping noise became apparent. Sherlock quickly flung his coat over the railing and into the water, but as he did so, a large bang was heard and the explosives went off, spluttering water out of the Thames. People at the side of the railing began to gasp loudly at the noise they heard and they all ducked down as the explosion went down into the water. Sherlock protectively pushed Scarlett into his body, turning her away from the railing as she held onto his blazer jacket tightly, and the bang echoed in their ears.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked her and she nodded, looking up at him.

"I'm fine," she said. "Are you okay?"

"Couldn't be better," he assured her and they heard John's voice from her pocket.

"Very nice to hear from you John," Sherlock told his friend down the phone when Scarlett handed it to him.

"And you too Sherlock..." John managed to chuckle down the phone as he looked onto the corpse of Ian Morris.

"I suggest you get yourself out of there John...the police will possibly find the bodies and you being there won't look too good." Sherlock told his friend.

"I think you're right," John agreed. "Is everyone okay?"

"It went into the water before anything could happen," Sherlock replied. "Thankfully."

"I'm on my way down," John said. "And Sherlock..."

"Don't go all sentimental on me again John," Sherlock pleaded.

"If you say so you pompous arse," John replied and he hung up. Sherlock smirked and handed the phone back to Scarlett and she dropped it into her bag and looked up at Sherlock.

"I thought I may have lost you," she whispered to him and he smirked at her.

"I'm not that easy to get rid of," he replied. "And thank you...you saved my life..."

"Makes a change from you saving mine," she shrugged and he chuckled but nodded in agreement.

"I suppose a bit of variety in someone's life never hurt them." He replied and she simply just smiled up at him.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes," Scarlett said and wrapped her arms around his neck and began to kiss him hungrily in the middle of the crowds and his arms wrapped around her waist and held her tightly to him, never really wanting to let her go.


	57. Chapter 57

Epilogue

Scarlett crouched down on the snow covered grass on the morning of the fifth of January as she rested a single little rose onto the mound of earth and she wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye. She looked onto the headstone before placing baby's first teddy onto the snow after kissing it softly on the head. She slowly reached over and dusted the snow particles from the wording on the headstone, allowing it to be seen in its true beauty as the snow tried to cover it up once again. She adjusted her hat on her head and pulled it further down, covering her ears. She slowly stood up and stepped back to look at it, automatically reaching a hand out and then feeling someone grasp it.

"I'm sure she would have been beautiful," Sherlock told Scarlett as she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek onto his chest, still looking at the grave.

"And brainy," Scarlett replied.

"Well with our genes of course she would have been," Sherlock assured her.

"I meant with your genes," Scarlett informed him and he shrugged.

"You're not too thick, you know?" he told her.

"Do you think she's watching us?" Scarlett wondered.

"I am unsure as to what to think," he told her. "I don't know if the afterlife is real...but if it is...then I would like to think she is."

"I would too," Scarlett replied and looked at the headstone which read;

_Here lies Rose Elizabeth Holmes-Jenson_

_Beloved daughter_

_She will be missed dearly._

"You still don't mind her taking my middle name?" Scarlett asked and Sherlock shook his head.

"You allowed me to choose the middle name...and my name does come before Jenson...I suppose it is apt to say that she is a mixture of both of us." Sherlock mused.

"She is," Scarlett replied.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt his phone vibrate and he pulled it from his pocket, still keeping Scarlett in his arms as he answered it.

"Sherlock Holmes...yes...yes...on the way." He said.

"Lestrade?" Scarlett guessed and Sherlock nodded.

"He has a case," Sherlock replied.

"You'd best go then," Scarlett told him.

"Aren't you coming back?" Sherlock wondered and Scarlett shook her head.

"I'm going to stay here for a bit...I'll see you tonight?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied and kissed her quickly before looking at the gravestone.

"Look after your mother for me Rose," Sherlock whispered quietly to it and then gave Scarlett one final kiss and she wiped the snow from his hair.

She watched as he walked down the middle of the graves, his grey coat swashing out behind him as he did so and then she looked back onto the grave of her daughter.

"Your daddy has had to go and help the police solve another case," she said, bending down again. "But he does that a lot you know? Just gets called away to solve these cases to put bad men into jail...your daddy is very brave...of course he can't know I said this," Scarlett rolled her eyes, "you don't want to know what it would do to his ego."

"Anyway, I'll tell you the story of how your mummy and daddy met one day...when it is less cold and not snowing heavily because it isn't exactly a short story..." she chuckled. "Anyway...I suppose I should be getting back home...your Uncle John is all alone and he isn't the best cook in the world so it is up to mummy to look after him and your daddy."

Scarlett stood up straight once again and looked onto the grave of Rose Elizabeth Holmes-Jenson.

"You have to know that your mummy and daddy love you very much Rose," she told the grave in a whisper. "We always will do."

Scarlett began to walk away from the grave as the snow covered the wording on the stone and the flower and teddy resting by the side of it. She quickly hailed a cab to get her out of the blizzard type weather and then headed back to 221B Baker Street, her much loved, atypical and unconventional home.

...

A/N: That's it! That is the entire story done! I had a day off work today and so I thought I would try and finish it off and so here we go. I have to say a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed over the story, mainly to, eruptingearth, Che, Captain Crash (I promise I will get round to reading more of your fic when I can!) Twilitefan (Irene turned out to be a cow in the end!) and also to barus and to XxLovelyLittleMeXx! And thank you to everyone else who has reviewed! Oh and how can I forget Cheeseball? And to everyone who placed this onto story alert and favourites! Just thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this.

I may do a sequel...depending on how lectures go and the time I have, but if you'd be interested then just let me know! Please do review!


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